A/N: Thanks a lot to @hyperionferrison for giving me this idea. Enjoy!
Vampire x fem!reader || period sex, oral sex, marking, biting, (very light) dub-con || tw: blood
It’s your third time coming to the clinic when you overheard a new vampire talking to another one: "What is with all the bloodbags?" You clench your teeth at the derogatory term the vampires use for humans.
“We do not talk about the humans like that here. If you want to work here you need to be respectful,” another voice says. You recognize her as the one who helped you through your last period, she was nice, nothing out of the ordinary, but nice enough.
“But what’s with them coming to the clinic?” The first voice asks again. “What do they want from us?”
“Didn’t you read the contract before signing or what?” The vampire sounds exasperated and it makes you want to huff. Yeah, the first one sounds like a jackass. "They'll ASK you to bite them during the worst time of the month. You get pussy and a meal all at once!" She sounded weirdly excited about it, but you couldn’t blame her, she was right.
You were almost desperate to get to the clinic this morning when you woke up in excruciating pain, already knowing the only thing that would make this endometriosis hell-scape a bit better was to be eaten out by a vampire.
You clear your throat, making both of them turn and look at you surprised. How can two vampires be so poorly self-aware having super senses surprising you. “Uh, hi. I called this morning for an appointment,” you tell them.
You try to ignore the beautiful new vampire, her black hair so long you could already imagine your hands threading through those shiny strands as she ate you out… But no. She didn’t even read the contract of the clinic! You preferred the other one. The one you already had, even if she wasn’t that good eating pussy.
“Oh, yes! I remember you. I had you last month, right?” You nod, trying really hard not to blush but probably failing. “This month you get to be her first,” she says pointing to the gorgeous vampire. Fuck. You are so fucked.
“But I…” You try to argue, but your uterus gives you a painful shock that has you clenching your teeth. “Can we do it now?” You tell her instead.
She smiles sympathetically and grabs the other vampire’s hand as she leads you two to one of the back rooms. “Okay, you have roughly an hour, but we don’t have other patients today, so you can take your time. Enjoy!”
“But what I’m supposed to do?” The gorgeous vampire asks, but the first one is already out of the door.
“You are supposed to feed from me and inject some of your venom so my pain stops,” you explain, taking off your clothes and folding them neatly in a pile.
She looks surprised. “Just that? Just feeding?” You know what she’s asking and you almost want to lie, but the tiny chance that you get to have sex with her is enough to get you talking.
“Some people like to eat me out, too, but it’s not required or anything. It’ll do with just your venom. Just… Fuck, do it already,” you plead, the pain so awful your knees turn jelly as you sit on the bed.
It’s like a switch is turned off in her brain, because in a fast movement you are laying on your back, and her body is fitting between your thighs. She gives your thigh a kiss before she sinks her fangs in your vein and starts sucking. The pain relief is instantaneous, but that doesn't stop her. She keeps sucking.
And it’s like entering another dimension completely. Your brain dissolves into your head, you barely have a single coherent thought as you scream in pleasure as she snacks on you. It might take a couple seconds, or maybe a whole hour, you lose track of time as she sucks and injects pain relief into your system.
She pulls her fangs out of your vein, her mouth red from blood and her eyes blown wide. “You taste so good, little flower. Is the pain gone?” You nod, unable to form words. “Good. Now I can taste what smells like wonder…”
You almost ask her what’s that, but a nanosecond after she’s making out with your pussy like a pro and your back is arching in response. You grab her hair to anchor yourself, making her moan against your flesh and sending all kinds of insane sparks of pleasure up your spine.
Your first orgasm catches you off guard, but the second and the third rock your world in a way that have you struggling to breathe as she feast on your pussy. She keeps telling you how good you taste, how fucking wonderful you smell and how she wishes she never has to leave the space between your legs. In other circumstances you’d be embarrassed, but as you grab onto her hair and rock your hips against her mouth, you can’t fathom embarrassment, only blinding pleasure.
You don’t know how many times she makes you come, but by the time she’s done, you are laying on the bed with a broken brain and zero pain. It’s better than anything you’ve experienced before, it’s everything all at once.
You look down at her as she licks her lips clean, smiling to herself as she looks up at you. Your eyes meet, and she lets out a soft huff, leaning down to give your pussy one last kiss.
“Your hour is up!” The vampire from before screams from outside the door.
Just like that, the bubble is broken and your brain is back in reality. You get up on shaky legs and get dressed. “Wait a second, I’m not done.” She says before grabbing you by the hair and pulling you to her, sealing your lips in the most earth-shattering kiss you’ve ever experienced. If her pussy eating skills were supreme, the way she kisses is god-worthy.
You are breathing hard when she parts, licking her lips as if searching for a hint of your taste. “I hope to see you here next month,” you tell her with a shy smile, your heartbeat crazy after the kiss.
“Is that so? And what about seeing me tomorrow for a date?” She asks back making you blush, nodding softly as she smiles predatory and plants another soft kiss against your parted lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, little flower.”
Note: You know, I actually created this account just for art and the like. But Tumblr just won't let me create a second account properly to post THIS. That's why it will be here. English is not my native language and I translated the text through a translator, so I just hope that it sounds adequate and understandable and that there are not many mistakes.
Disclaimer: nsfw content, boss/employee relationship, much older man/younger woman, manipulation, alcohol(?), jokes about Elphaba
A = Aftercare (how they behave after sex)
Wizard is very caring. He will help you clean up, ask if you need anything, and I think in most cases he has the simplest things like tissues or water on hand.
He will offer to draw a bath for you.If you don't mind, he will join you in the bath to relax and once again make sure you are okay.
B = Body part (their favorite part of their own body, as well as their partner's)
Purely in terms of appearance, he likes his hair. He always tries to keep it well-groomed and styled. He might even ask you to help him style it (he would help you with yours if you asked him for help with your hair).
In a more sexual sense, it's the dexterity of his hands. His experience as a magician and the fact that he is constantly tinkering himself have given him the ability to use his hands quite masterfully.
And considering that he is not in such good shape to hold out physically for a long time,this allows him to give more pleasure to his partner.
As for you, he likes your face. He loves to hold it in his hands, lightly squeezing your cheeks, or to watch you get flustered by his teasing. It's similar to how he craves to see the audience's reaction to a performance.
He also likes your hips. He really staring at how your clothes hug they. Plus, they are so soft and it's easy to pull you closer by them.
C = Cum (basically, anything related to cum)
Judging by the fact that we have Elphaba, in the Land of Oz there are no condoms (or someone is ignoring their existence). And no matter how much Oscar might want to start a family, he understands he is not quite in the position or age for it anymore. Of course, he would like to cum inside ypu and watch his semen drip out of you, but he won't do it (well, okay, maybe if you really ask him for it...).
Mostly,he cums on your stomach or back; in rare cases, he might cum on your face. In any case, he will lightly smear the cum on your skin, only to then wipe it off himself.
D = Dirty secret (this is their dirty secret that they hide)
Oscar is quite jealous, and sometimes it crosses boundaries.
Yes,you spend all your time with him on work (and sometimes on your days off too), but he is terribly worried that he will stop being interesting to you. After all, you are younger, and you must be attracted to someone your own age.
So sometimes he thinks about marking you in a way that everyone would know you're his.Maybe branding your body like an animal, but at least then it couldn't be washed off, removed, or taken off like some piece of jewelry he gave you.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)
He had quite a turbulent life before he ended up in the Land of Oz, and as we know, after that as well. He has had many partners. And experience, as we know, doesn't disappear.
Oz will use everything he already knows on you,things that will definitely make you feel good. Plus, he has enough tricks up his sleeve that can enhance the result, and he is not shy about asking you how you want him to proceed.
F = Favorite position (this is self-explanatory)
Wizard surprisingly likes to bend you over surfaces, whether it's the desk in his study or workshop, or the nightstand in his room. There's something about the way not only you but also the furniture beneath you shake from his thrusts.
On the bed,he will lay you on your belly and place a large pillow under your hips so that your rear is raised.
He also likes it when you ride him.Usually in this position, he tries to press you closer to himself while you move on top of him.
G = Goofy (are they more serious at the moment? do they have a sense of humor? etc.)
He can show you a couple of tricks to tease you and win you over; most likely, these tricks will have an erotic undertone.
He loves to watch you smile,especially right before your smiling face changes to one of pure bliss, and your light laughter turns into moans.
H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?)
He definitely has a so-called happy trail. Otherwise, he is quite well-groomed and makes sure his body hair is neat everywhere.
I = Intimacy (how do they feel at the moment? the romantic aspect)
He is very tactile. Oscar hardly ever leaves the castle, and for a long time, he simply had no one to interact with. And Morrible is too reserved and distant, so in most cases, he can't even hug her when they meet.
So, every time he gets the chance, he clings to you.
As for more intimate moments, he still tries to press closer to you, his hands are always on your body, and his touches always carry a certain caring quality, even if today he has decided to be rougher.
J = Jerk off (masturbation and all that)
Usually, he doesn't have time for it. If he's not busy with ruler duties, he's tinkering with some mechanisms or miniatures for his "Oz of future". Arousal doesn't come to him spontaneously, and if it does, he can suppress it, or as a last resort, call for you.
K = Kinks (one or more kinks or fetishes)
He loves to tease. For him, there's nothing better than feeling and seeing you begin to tremble from his touch or voice, when your adherence to decency crumbles and you start squirming in his hands while he continues to deny you or draw out the pleasure for his own amusement. You look so cute in that state; he can't deny himself watching it a little longer.
Praise. He likes to praise you, and this applies not just to sex. It's one of his ways to emphasize how much he values you.
I think he has a mild breeding kink. He always wanted a family and a child. If you agree to let him finish inside, he will be more than happy. He will press his hips tightly against you, staying inside for as long as possible.
L = Location (favorite places for sex)
In his bedroom or in the study.
In the latter case, he always makes sure the door is firmly closed and no one will accidentally barge in and interrupt the process.
In the bedroom, he is most comfortable; it's convenient, has everything he might need, and there's no risk of being interrupted.
But sometimes he just wants to play with fire.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, what drives them forward)
Your usual work-related restraint and politeness. He finds it incredibly cute and attractive how, despite your relationship behind closed doors, you still try to maintain maximum professionalism. And how you blush when he seemingly casually flirts with you during work or gives you compliments.
He loves to watch as you begin to show the side accessible only to him.
That's why, by evening, he can't wait to tear off that cracked mask of composure from you.
N = No (what they wouldn't do, what they refuse)
Nothing too specific or traumatizing.
He always tries to gauge his strength so as not to be too rough with you or cause real pain. That's precisely why the branding scenario is just his jealous fantasy, which he won't carry out because he cares too much about your well-being.
O = Oral (preference for giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He's not a big fan of oral sex, either giving or receiving. But if you want to, he has no reason to refuse.
Receiving – He usually tilts his head back against the chair, letting out something between a moan and a grunt. One of his hands strokes your head, fingers tangling in your hair. With the other, he either grips the armrest or covers his mouth, looking down at you with a satisfied, fox-like gaze.
Giving – He has a talented tongue in every possible sense, and his experience works against you because it allows him to bring you to your peak quite quickly.
He likes your taste, but he's more accustomed to licking your juices from his fingers and generally prefers working with his hands. Plus, he doesn't like having his hair pulled. But he's willing to forgive the pain and discomfort because your reaction is simply too priceless.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Oscar doesn't like to rush, even when he's not in the best mood. He often deliberately draws out the foreplay, wanting to prolong the process. His pace during sex tends to be sensually slow, though of course he can speed up if you ask him to or if he himself deems it necessary.
Q = Quickie (their opinion on quickies, how often, etc.)
As I wrote a couple of lines above, Oz likes to draw out the process, even if it happens in his study. Besides, he's not at the age or in the condition for quick rounds.
R = Risk (are they willing to experiment? do they take risks?)
He's not against trying something new and will most likely be the first to suggest it. Of course, he will choose something safe and within his control.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they handle? how long can they last?)
He's around 70, so he's not very hardy. One round, maybe two if he's had enough of the elixir from his personal supply beforehand. But he skillfully compensates for his lack of stamina. Although, with his love for drawing out the process (and the fact that he's most likely already made you come at least once before he gets to the main event), after one round you'll both be tired.
T = Toys (do they have any toys? do they use them? on their partner or on themselves?)
Oscar has plenty of free time, which he spends creating new mechanisms, miniatures, and improving equipment. At some point, it simply occurs to him to make something for your pleasure.
But he most likely already has a set of more standard things like ropes or maybe handcuffs.
U = Unfair (how much they love to tease)
As we remember from point K, this is one of his favorite things. Don't judge him for such a love of teasing; after all, he's earned the right to indulge in it.
He especially enjoys watching your reaction when he denies you. His mouth stretches into a wide, satisfied smile, and he looks like a cat observing you squirming, trying to find release.
V = Volume (how loud are they, what sounds do they make, etc.)
Wizard talks a lot during sex. Mostly, it's encouraging words he whispers in your ear, using many terms of endearment. He might also comment on your behavior or reactions, or just mutter something barely intelligible.
As for his own volume, well... if we set aside his chatter, he mainly moans or grunts quietly.
W = Wild card (random headcanon for the character)
He occasionally spikes your drink with his elixir to steer you in the desired direction. He just casually offers you a drink to relax, and then everything proceeds as planned. But it's not really a transgression when you know what he takes it for, is it?
X = X-ray (let's see what's under those clothes)
He's tall and has a rather average build. For his age, he looks very good, and he knows how to take care of himself.
As for his penis, it's generally average-sized, somewhat plumper towards the tip, and slightly darker than his skin.
Y = Yearning (how strong is their sexual drive?)
Again, he's around 70, which should seemingly mean his drive isn't that high, but there's a catch. He spent many years alone, living in the castle and ruling the country, hardly ever leaving it, and it seems never venturing beyond the Emerald City. He simply accumulated a lot of unexpressed love, attachment, and desire. But he tries to balance all of this and adjust it to your pace.
Z = Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep afterwards)
Even if exhausted after sex, Oscar still has trouble falling asleep. After he gets you settled, he usually takes a couple of sleeping pills to sleep better and not wake you up in the middle of the night.
Sometimes he reads something to you aloud before falling asleep. He loves to sleep cuddling.
Warnings: Breeding Kink, Religious Kink, Abuse of Authority, Power Dynamics
Summary: The Chapel of Saint Glinda stands in the middle of the Emerald City, not 200 yards away from the Emerald Palace. It is home to the pious and the unfortunate — the discarded daughters of Emerald citizens. As the city is on high alert as ever with a witch on the loose, the dear reader finds herself caught in between a friendship with the freshly discarded Glinda Upland, and those in power high in their emerald towers.
Word Count: 3,419
Note: This is a gift for the 2025 Holiday Secret Santa for the Jeff Goldblum Discord. Much love to our beloved @katiestardoodles and here's to writing twice as much in the New Year.
AO3 Link
You could give up all of your possessions in this world and still feel like a king in the chapel of Saint Glinda. The vaulted ceilings were tall enough that, conceivably, the great fairy, Lurline, could stand proud and tall within the cathedral (it was not in fact a chapel — to expect the Emerald City to do anything small was ridiculous) if it would not have been complete and utter heresy. Gold gilt the altar, pews, and everything else in between. Even the pure white aisle runner had been sewn with a golden prayer to the Unnamed God along the edges. I ran my tongue along the sharp edge of my front teeth, considering if I were to steal it, how much it would be worth. Maybe enough to make out a month or two of rent in a run-down apartment in the Quadling Quarter.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” I’d known a lot of pretty people in my life, but the girl beside me might be the second prettiest. Her sunshine blonde hair fell in gentle curls around the pink tweed of her coat. That alone cut such a fine figure that you could make the case for her to be the prettiest person anyone would meet in their whole life. “You know, I'm named after her,” she said.
“Are you here to join the mauntery, too?” I asked.
Her face twisted as if she were about to cry, before she laughed. “Yeah… I guess I am.”
“I don’t want to join either if it makes you feel better. Some parents don’t plan for daughters, you know. Too old for anyone to marry me at this point.” I was twenty-seven, not truly old, but old enough that no matchmaker in town would take me into their books. The ones who had when I had been young enough found it — or rather, me — to be impossible.
The girl — I’m assuming named Glinda — offered me her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“So what’s your deal?” I asked.
I must have twisted the knife further because she scrunched up her face. A door opened, and all of a sudden, the pain was gone. She took her hand from mine and quickly dabbed the inner corners of her eyes with the pink tweed. Three people walked through the rectory door near the north transept. The first looked to be a maunt, elderly in her eighties, her veil and habit out of step with the rest of the Emerald City: black as the Ozian night sky. Following behind her was a woman only slightly younger, her hair white and twisted in bends and swirls — an ornate hairstyle to complement her equally ornate beaded emerald gown. There was a false summer to her gaze that set my hair on end. Behind her was a man who stood at least a foot taller than both of them. He was impossible not to recognize.
Ever since the Wicked Witch had committed to terrorizing all of Oz, it was hard not to notice the almost overnight change that swept through the gemmed city. Walls that had once glinted in the sunlight were now posted over with the gloss of his face. Even in this chapel, the chapel of Saint Glinda, they had removed or pasted over the images of her with the likeness of him, wearing the very vestments he had on now. Dark forest green alb almost touched the floor, a perfect background for the emerald chasuble that had draped over his larger-than-life frame. Where the other woman’s gaze felt like a storm brewing, the golden threads that embroider the collar of the chasuble brought a sparkling light of wealth and good times yet to come to those deep brown eyes. It was borderline blasphemous.
“I’m glad to see you are making yourself at home, dearie,” the middle woman said. “This really is the perfect place for you, name and all.”
“Thank you, Madame Morrible,” Glinda said. “I really am grateful for the… recommendation.”
“I couldn't be happier,” Glinda said, taking my hand.
I was not one to be a prude, but the touch shocked me. Not out of any physical sensibility, but the need to drag me into whatever was being unsaid between the lines. I’m not one to be a coward either. The Wizard alone could probably crucify Glinda like her namesake and lose no support, but that didn't stop me from placing another hand on top of hers. That caught his attention.
“You've even made a new friend,” he said, eyes never leaving me. “Hi, what's your name?”
“I’m about to give it up, so I’m afraid it won't be of much use.” I had only known Glinda for a few minutes, but I knew enough that she was in the same boat as me — the kind that forced you to swear a vow of celibacy and poverty. I smirked, saying, “I’m sorry, I don't believe we've met. You are?”
I expected an explosion of rage, an exasperated sigh, anything but the smile that was now slowly spreading across his face. “No one of importance, Unnamed God willing.”
“You will be,” the maunt said. “We have novitiates ready today, and I need you to perform their rites of passage.”
The Wizard turned to the maunt, the delight gone from his face. “We should make it quickly, then. I am a very busy man, and with this witch on the loose, I have meetings to attend and safety to ensure.”
“I’m sure all of Oz is grateful to you,” I said. The maunt and Madame Morrible looked at me as if I were a rat that had snuck into the cathedral. I gripped Glinda’s hand tighter when I saw the contrast of him, eyes locked onto mine.
“I will make an example of her. The reckless disregard for authority is infectious and must be dealt with,” he said. He turned and left toward the south transept, toward the original chapel that the grand cathedral had been built around. The maunt followed him, leaving us with Madame Morrible.
“You have a great talent for making friends in need of a desirable nature,” she said to Glinda. “You were always a straight-A student at school. I hope your learning will still prevail you here.”
Glinda let go of my hand as Madame Morrible turned and left back through the north transept.
_______________________
I would see him on Sundays and during the high holy days. He never looked like he much wanted to be there, sat up in the chancel. I’d catch him looking at me, though. I wasn't exactly hard to spot with my white habit and veil. Glinda and I were the only two wearing it. I think with the witch on the loose and most of the men conscripted to the Emerald Guard, there had been more jobs for women to take and less desire to submit oneself to a life of celibacy and hymns just for a scrap of bread.
Glinda shifted in her seat as the Wizard stared us down for the fifth time that mass. I swatted at her to be still. The Maunt Superior was strict, and I didn't want to receive a lashing for proximity to misbehavior.
“What was your deal with him?” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. “He can't keep his eyes off of you.”
“Me!?” Glinda hushed. I kicked her foot. “He is not looking at me. Just you.”
I looked at her and then back up at him. His body shuddered with a silent laugh before rolling his eyes back to the Maunt Superior. I scoffed. “Wish that fucking witch would kill him,” I whispered.
Glinda kicked my foot at that, and that was enough for the maunt beside us to swat Glinda with her hymnal.
There goes lunch, I thought.
_______________________
It was spring by the time I was ready to receive my rites. Becoming a maunt involved many steps, but one of the last was a rigorous four round panel of interviews. They never told the novitiates who they would be interviewing with — I suppose to keep it fair: a novitiate could not ingratiate themselves with only a few people in particular, but had to interact with the whole mauntery. My first three had been somewhat expected. The second one surprised me: the organist maunt — how grateful I had been for that. She hadn't noticed one speck of either Glinda’s or my misbehavior, what with that big hunk of wood and pipes in her face.
I sat outside the Maunt Superior’s door. She vacated the office during this time so the interviews could be held in a place of privacy. Glinda had gone first. I had such an itching in my muscles to get up and press my ear to the door, but I restrained myself. I remember having to confess to the nurse maunt that I had been the one who had stolen her rubbing alcohol in a botched attempt to make elixir under Glinda’s and my bunk. Glinda hadn't known that it had been me who had put the bowl of foul fermented stuff under the bed. I’d blamed it on the others wanting to prank the novitiates before tossing it out the window. It was my secret, and I wanted to keep it that way. She deserved the same for whatever she held in her heart, for I called her a friend.
The door slammed open, and Glinda ran out of the office. She was a lot faster than I had ever thought she would be when I had first met her. In the blur of white novitiate veil and habit, I swore I could see the pink of her nose and tears dampening her cheeks. My heart begged me to chase after her, but I felt myself being pulled into the room, fists balled, and teeth gritted to see just who would have harmed her like that.
He sat in the sill, looking out the heavily paned window. Today, he had on a white alb and a sage chasuble, looking neither worried nor overjoyed as he took another bite out of the apple in his hand.
“You son of a bitch,” I said. “What the fuck did you do to her?”
“You want the whole rectory to hear you?” he said calmly, gaze shifting to me and then back out the window. “Shut the door before you get yourself flogged by the Maunt Superior.”
I hesitated, considering going after Glinda, but knew that it wouldn't do either her or me any good if I got kicked out of the mauntery for failing to complete this interview. If they kicked her out, I would just quit; nobody could keep you bound to the church without your own will. I shut the door.
“What did you do to her?” I demanded again.
“What did I do?” he asked. “You should be asking what she’s done. Little brat lost it when I said that we’d found out where her little terrorist friend was hiding.” He scoffed. “I give her… so many chances. A whole new life. You’d think she'd be grateful. It's a pity to keep looks like that chained up under a chastity belt, but hey, it beats rotting away in the dungeon. She might be an airhead, but at least she can put two and two together.”
“I don't believe you,” I said. My nails had been digging into my palms ever since I got in here, but now they were starting to hurt.
“Darlin’,” he laughed, slipping off the windowsill with ease, “not everyone has to believe you — just the majority.” He pulled out the solid oak chair from the Maunt Superior’s desk and swept himself into it. “Come, come. Have a seat. This is your interview, not….” He gestured as if he were trying to pull her name from a jumbled mess. “… Whatserface.”
“Her name is Glinda,” I said, crossing my arms. There was no way in hell I was going to sit across from him, as if we had any equal footing. He may be the Wizard of Oz, but all those Sundays in the pews, looking up at him, got me to thinking. He was the one who set this system up. If he had actually cared about his citizens, he would have done something to change the laws by now. I was a daughter of Oz: I deserved just as many rights as any man had in this land.
“Are you going to be a thorn in my side the rest of this interview? How am I supposed to ask you any questions? They should name you Maunt Thorn.”
“Are you going to pass me or not?” I asked.
He set his half-eaten apple down at the question. “Do you want me to pass you?”
“What kind of fucking question is that?” I said.
“Don’t act like you haven't been making eyes at me for the past several months.” He gave me a chastising sideways glance.
“You're the one who's been making eyes at me!” I objected.
“Well, either I'm making eyes at you, or you're making eyes at me, but that still doesn't solve the problem that you don't want to be a maunt.”
“I do,” I said. “I can't leave Glinda, and there's no-”
“Can't leave Glinda or not, you are as horny as a goat, sweetheart.”
I blinked my eyes wide open. “What?” I said lowly.
“You heard me. Never did meet someone making moon eyes at me like that that didn't also want to suck my cock.”
“You-" I said, shoving a finger in his face. This was the Maunt Superior’s office! That was saying nothing of the fact that both of us were wearing clothing that had been thrice blessed. I may have come in here a non-believer, but even this would offend the sensibilities of a doubter. My fists balled as I let out a frustrated sigh. “You cannot be saying that.”
“I can say whatever I want,” he said, sitting upright in the chair. “And it's the truth.”
“You're full of shit,” I said.
“You're telling me that if I… If I were to put you up on this desk and pull your skirts up, I wouldn't find you dripping wet? You think I haven't been around the block enough to know when a lady's got her panties in a bunch or not?”
I shifted, feeling the wet spot that had been growing since I walked into the room and saw him, cling to the delicate skin as I walked to the window. “It's not true,” I said.
The Wizard sighed. “I’ll pass you right here, right now if you prove it to me. I don’t think you can.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well then, I’ll know you are a liar and lying is strictly forbidden in the Unionist church. I’ll have no choice but to not recommend you to the mauntery.”
The corners of my lips quivered, threatening to pull downward. I marched over to the desk and reached under my skirt, slipping the cotton underwear down my hips and legs. I prayed to the Unnamed God that if He was real, He could make a miracle happen. Handing the offensive article of clothing over to him, I watched as it only took a moment for him to find the gusset and swipe his finger over the soaked fabric.
“Bad girl,” he said, flicking his eyes up to me. I backed away, but he came up out of the chair and followed me to the window. I found myself pressed against the wall, just out of sight of the window facing the courtyard. I could hear the other maunts out in the common area, getting ready for mass.
He was massive, far bigger than the posters within the mauntery had led me to believe. His hand tilted my chin up, and he brought his lips to mine. A terrible thrill slid through my body, causing my fingers to tremble as I reached up to remove his hand.
“This is wrong,” I breathed as he broke from me.
“It’s only wrong if we get caught,” he said lowly, before crushing his lips against mine again. His tongue pushed into my mouth with no begging or pleading, the taste of apple still on it.
I moaned, letting my hands rest on his chest. The sound of fabric rustling and the clinking of metal set my heart to racing. “Your Ozness,” I protested, “what if someone-”
“If you don’t want to get caught, then zip it,” he said, hoisting me up. The fabric of habit and alb was adjusted until I could feel the head of his cock prodding at my entrance.
“Oh, Oz,” I breathed.
“Just Oscar,” he said, before guiding my hips down onto his cock.
I groaned as he split me open. It was like stretching in the morning after a hard sleep, pulling muscles inside of me that I didn’t even know were aching. I had been ready to give it all up, all unknowingly.
His breath ghosted my cheek, uneven as I watched something uncontrollable flash behind his eyes. He readjusted his grip and thrust into me again.
“Oscar,” I said, “Oscar, it’s not just the maunts in the courtyard. I haven’t taken anything to control my moonsblood.”
He laughed at that, and a coldness crept up through my cheeks. “We’ll call it immaculate conception, sweetheart.”
He thrust into me again, and I felt myself spasm on him. “Nobody will believe that,” I said.
“They believe what I tell them,” he said. His mustache tickled the side of my neck as he shoved the coif up to kiss at the tender skin. “They'll believe in a god they can’t see. What’s one more leap of faith?”
The Wizard kissed lower and then bit into my shoulder. I gasped, feeling my stomach flip, the thread within me tighten as I fought to focus between the pain and the pleasure. “Oscar,” I gasped.
“Yes, doll? Tell me what you need.”
He shifted his hips. Every thrust beat against the hot iron of my desire. “Need you to fill me,” I slurred.
“S’that what you need, doll? Hmm?” he panted. “You need me to knock you up? You’re a filthy little thing.” He hooked an arm under one of my legs, and I felt him slip even deeper. “Go on then: milk my cock like the faithful woman that you are. The Unnamed God commands it.”
His words tipped me over the edge as I felt myself come undone again and again and again. I needed him, needed his seed inside of me, corrupting me: my body needed it. The Wizard answered my prayer as I felt the hot sticky ropes spurt deep inside of me.
I squeezed him one last time as I felt the warmth being pushed deeper with one final thrust.
“God, you have a tight pussy,” he panted. “Could fill you up every day.”
My tongue stuck to the dry roof of my mouth as I slowly got my senses back. “Let Glinda go,” I said. “Let Glinda go, and you can.”
He laughed at that as he slid out of me. I felt his seed slipping down the gape that he left, slowly dripping down onto my thigh. “Why would I do that?”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just let her go.”
The Wizard re-dressed himself, shifting chasuble and alb until he looked presentable again. He sat back down at the desk and scribbled something on the paper that had been placed in front of him the whole time. I looked to the side where my underwear lay, next to the parchment and inkwell.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
The Wizard reached over and handed me my underwear from the desk. “I’m passing you,” he said. He signed his name at the bottom of the paper in big looping script. “I’m passing you, and recommending you to service within the Emerald Palace.” I watched as he folded the paper and handed it to me with a smile. Briefly, I thought about hiding it from the Maunt Superior, but she would find out eventually. She had set up the interviews, after all. “I think you’ll fit right in,” he said, taking the half-eaten apple core with him as he left me standing there in the office, his seed dripping down my legs.
Title: Tie Me Down and Trap Me
Fandom: Wicked (2024)
Pairing: The Wizard of Oz x Reader
Word Count: 762
Content Warnings: Reader-Insert, Branding, Scarification, Yandere!Wizard, Nonconsensual Branding, No Sex
A/N: Mind the warnings! I have included Discussion Questions at the end because I saw it on TikTok, and I liked the idea, and I want to share the research that went into this work.
Word Count: 2,705 of 9,062
AO3 Link
My mom dropped me off at the office at eight o’clock, Dr. Fiennes informed the office nurse that he wasn’t feeling well, and we were at his house by nine thirty. The midsummer cicadas sung as the tires of his brand new Plymouth grit the gravel of the driveway. The thrum of their song seemed to ebb and flow with each pass of Dr. Fiennes’s thumb from the hand that rested on my knee. My own blood seemed to hum in time with their melody as I thought about what awaited us in that house.
The two-story colonial house came into view, stepping forth from the shroud of cloudlike dogwoods. I'd honestly given up on the idea of being carried across a threshold, letting myself nest in the comfort of my academics. I'd be able to get a good job once I finished college, or maybe even move onto the Law school if I felt like it. Those ideas dissipated in my mind like the morning mist, beaten away by the manse.
“It's beautiful,” I whispered, afraid that it might overhear us.
Wally chuckled, squeezing my thigh. “You want a tour?”
I looked over at him and felt the cicada thrum between us as we locked eyes. He let them linger before pulling into the carport. I waited as he shut the car off and got out to open my door. My wicker purse had already been through so much, but now the caning creaked and cracked as I squeezed it until Wally offered me his hand.
I looked up at him for the first time alone. Just the two of us. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he repeated. The cicadas thrummed in our silence as he closed the distance, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Gee, don't you look like a million bucks?”
I giggled and tucked my chin. “You promised me a house tour,” I said, trying to hide my laughter as smooth fingertips danced their way up my jaw to the point of my chin.
“Is that what my baby girl wants?” he asked.
I squeezed my purse as he tipped my chin up, meeting my lips with a gentle brush. It was just a taste, his thumb grazing my cheek, accompanying the morning mint of his toothpaste. As he pulled away, I let my eyes slowly open to find that he was already fumbling with his keys at the door. I hovered near him as he found the right one and the deadbolt clacked free.
The inside of the house held a dim glow of sunlight desperate to break through the closed cotton drapes. Beige carpet softened footfalls as we walked into the house. My eyes adjusted, and the furniture that had blended with the carpet slowly became apparent — two sofas face to face with a white washed coffee table between them, two beige end tables, beige lamps, beige throw pillows, beige flowers on the coffee table. The only thing that stood out was the black baby grand in the corner, a caramel wooden record player, and a matching sideboard. Something gold that glinted on the back of the grand piano.
Wally shut the door and shoved me up against it, his tongue plunging into my mouth. I moaned his name as he hoisted me up by the backs of my thighs. He groaned back, pressing my pelvis harder against mine, and I could feel it in his pants.
“Dr. Fiennes,” I gasped, pulling away from his lips. My heart was pounding. “Wally, please.” He kissed me again. “You promised to show me the house.”
He nipped loving bites across my neck. “Wouldn't you rather I show you a good time?”
I mustered a laugh, pushing him back. I’d wanted him, but all of the worries of things I hadn’t thought through — things like sex and my virginity and its consequences— were sweating through my body all the way down to my clammy palms. “I’ll be too tired afterwards,” I smiled, “and you still have to take me home at four.”
Dr. Fiennes groaned as he came up from my throat. “College has addled your brain. Being reasonable? Now?” He pecked a kiss on my lips and set me down on the floor.
“This is the den,” he said, wrapping an arm around me. “There’s not much to see here. I spend most of my time at the office or in patients’ homes.”
“Do you play?” I said, gesturing to the piano.
Wally squeezed me. Taking his place at the piano, the notes flowed from his fingers. They whined together, sad and discordant, but soft — a lullaby made of jazz.
I moved toward the piano, trying to place the melody. As I got closer, I saw the golden glint was picture frames, all lying face down. One of the backs was poorly fitted and shifted up just enough that I could read the cursive on the bottom of the photo. Mary and John, Niagara Falls, 1903.
The melody pulled me back in, sweltering through the chords and lingering bittersweet notes. “Summertime,” I said as the lyrics came to me.
He sang softly.
“Summertime and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high
Oh, your daddy's rich and your ma is good-lookin'
So hush little baby, don't you cry”
His voice tried to pull me in with each passing bar, but I felt the golden siren song of the photo frames singing louder still. Why keep them out if he wasn't going to display them? “Dr. Fiennes,” I interrupted. The melody didn't stop as he looked up at me. “Wally, it is so hot. Could I get some water? If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”
The music stopped, and Wally shut the lid of the keys. The heat of the room poured over me as he came to my side. “Just some water? You don't want a drink or something? It’ll be our secret.”
I laughed nervously as his hand came to rest naturally on my arm. “No, thank you,” I said. “Maybe you can show me the bedroom after, though?”
It was the magic words as he placed a kiss on my head and slipped off to the kitchen. Quickly, I flipped up the misfitted frame and the one next to it. Mary was a young woman in a large hat and a long fur coat that covered her from shoulder to toe, no older than eighteen. John appeared to be a baby, also bundled in fur. The background blurred — probably the foam and water spray from the supposed Niagara Falls. The second picture was of the same woman and child, in dress clothes, posed next to a young man in wire rimmed glasses. His hair hadn’t changed one bit, and the posture and hands were unmistakable.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Fiennes asked.
I jumped, and the picture frames slipped from my hands. Metal and glass clattered on top of the wooden piano. I stuttered.
Dr. Fiennes set the glass of water down on the sideboard and quickly replaced the frames in their original positions. I noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding band as he adjusted them. Had he ever worn a wedding band?
“Wally,” I said, “I didn't know. I-"
“You shouldn't touch things that aren't yours,” he cut me off. His voice was cold again, a quiet anger lingering beneath the surface.
“I-" The words refused to come up, sending tears in their stead. I swallowed hard, willing my voice steady. “Who is she?”
Wally said, “I invited you over for a nice time, and you're spoiling it.”
I touched his arm, trying to bring the temperature down. Wally looked down at my hand, a breeze ruffling the curtains of the beige room. He trapped me against the piano.
His hand tangled in my hair as he yanked my head back, crushing his lips to mine. The eager passion at the door had been replaced by something more terrifying as he pawed my skirt up, exposing the new pink underwear I'd bought at Whitney's in Albany on Saturday. I'd bought it when my mom wasn't looking, as quickly as I could. Now he was shoving his hand in just as fast, sinking two fingers in. I moaned.
“Wally, please,” I muffled into his mouth.
“Your dad was right: you are a spoiled brat. What gives you the right to go touch other people's things?” He jammed his fingers up into me, almost painfully. “Huh!?”
“Ow!” I exclaimed.
He let go of my hair and smacked me just hard enough across the face for it to sting. “I didn't believe him. Thought I was getting a good deal too.”
His words didn't make sense, but I knew that prying had set him off. “Wally, I'm sorry,” I said. “I just wanted-"
“Want,” he said. “All you do is want. You want to move to New York. You want a damn degree. You never think about what other people want.” He curled his fingers inside of me, letting me wallow in the misery of knowing only he could reach that deep. “What about what I want?”
“I want you,” I objected. “I want to make you happy.”
I felt it again — the hardness in his pants, the thing that scared me ever since I'd touched John on prom night. It was the same thing that got Helen pregnant and married off to her boring-as-cardboard high-school sweetheart. It felt like a soda bottle pressed against my stomach.
I must have been looking at it, because he pulled my head back to look up at him again. “I want that to,” he breathed. Pulling his fingers from me, he guided me by the hair away from the piano, releasing me near the couch. “Take your clothes off.”
I looked at the half-open windows, wondering what could be seen from the street. It seemed far enough up the driveway…
Wally's eyes fixed on me like I was one of his patients. They absorbed every movement I made, looking for any sign of an illness, hiding like vermin he could ferret out. They watched as I undid the top, second, third, fourth, and fifth button on my shirt. They watched as I unzipped my skirt and let it slide down my legs. They watched as first slip and then pantyhose came off. The breeze from the window felt nice on my bare skin.
“All of them. Off,” he corrected.
“Can we go to the bedroom?” I asked.
“Do you regularly have trouble with authority?” he asked.
The cool fingers of fear wrapped themselves around my heart upon hearing the familiar phrase. My hands shook as they hurried to undo the clasps of my bra and take off the new underwear I had bought, tossing them aside.
Wally sighed, taking in the sight of naked skin. His eyes still crawled up and down the sight of me, looking for ways to heal his sick patient. I was sick — any sane girl would have to be to end up stark naked in the living room of her parents’ friend.
“I bought the underwear in-"
“Bend over the couch,” he interrupted. “Please.”
The cicadas had stopped their song. I only realized it as I turned and heard the soft hush of my hips gliding against the nylon upholstery, letting myself fold over the sofa. The heat must have already climbed so much that it was impossible for them to rub their noisy wings together anymore.
There was the metallic clink of a belt buckle, the sound of a zipper, and the rustle of clothes. I wanted to see him, wanted to touch his face and kiss his lips. I had dreamed about it ever since he’d fingered me in my bedroom. Internally, I kicked myself for prying where I didn't belong. It could've been so nice, but he was right: I'd spoiled it.
Something nudged and slid up and down through the slick of my folds. I'd wanted it to be his fingers, but soon I felt Wally push his cock into me. I cried out as he easily sank into me, past the ache that had been building.
He sighed, his fingers digging into my hips. “You’re built perfectly. I was thinking we’d wait a year, let things settle, but…”
I pushed back on him, trying to get any sort of friction from the sofa. The head of his cock brushed against my cervix — he’d taught me that word when I laid on his exam table for the second time — and I couldn’t help but squeeze him. It was a new and funny feeling at the bottom of my stomach, and it made me think of the tingling itch of when you had to sneeze but couldn’t. Wally happily obliged in scratching, pushing into me again.
“You’re a slut, you know that?” he said. “Squeezing my cock like that. We don't have to wait for spring. We could get married in October.”
The curtains fluttered open briefly, and I squeezed again. The mailman or anyone else could walk up to the door and see me bent over like this — it was early enough in the day, and the receptionist was a gossip. Would they recognize who I was? Would they be a patient of Dr. Fiennes come to check up on him? Who would they tell?
“Wally,” I groaned as he hit deep inside of me again.
“Your parents have no idea that their daughter gets turned on being a slut for her boss. Hell, I think I got the better end of the bargain.” His grip tightened as he quickened his pace. What had been a pleasantly warm room climbed in heat with each thrust, the sweat from my own body slowly sticking me to the sofa. I felt like a fly on tape, helpless to his whims, clawing at the slippery nylon upholstery. We hovered at the edge of my release, the position not enough, still only faintly scratching at the itch.
“Wally, please, I want to cum,” I said, feeling the back of my throat crack in dryness.
“You know what you have to do. Say the words,” he said.
“I need you,” I whined.
“Need me enough to marry me?” he panted back. “I don't want you going back to school.”
I could feel his hand slipping towards the apex of my thighs. I liked him, but hadn't really thought about it. He was way too old. If I still really wanted a fling with him, he’d still be there after I finished my degree. The word “Yes” came from my mouth in a complete lie.
Quickly, his fingers stroked back and forth over my clit until I screamed in ecstasy. His own release wasn't far behind as he groaned and spilled into me. I could feel his seed, warm against my walls. I hadn't even come down from my high when he scooped me up and brought me around, laying me down on the sofa. He took one of the pillows and slid it underneath my hips.
“Do you still have that water?” I asked. My words had become slurred in the heat and the disgusting stickiness between my thighs. “And some Lysol?”
Wally tucked himself back in and retrieved the glass from the sideboard. “I’m afraid I don't have any of that,” he said, handing the glass of water to me.
I pushed up onto my elbows, taking a sip of the cold water. “Maybe we could stop by the drugstore and pic-”
“You've been through a lot today,” Wally said, taking the water and setting it on the coffee table. “As your physician, I’m ordering you to get some bed rest. Here.” He lifted me just enough so that he could sit down, and then laid my head in his lap. He picked up a beige novel from the end table. The gold lettering on the front cover might have said “Jane Eyre”, but I could feel his prescribed sleep tugging my eyelids shut.
“Just remember we need to pick some up later,” I said.
Wally didn't say anything to that, but licked his finger and flipped the page of the book.
Discussion Questions:
Regarding the reader asking Dr. Fiennes for some Lysol:
Why do you think she asked for it along with water?
What kind of birth control was available to women in 1952? Was birth control legal?
When was the modern "pill" introduced as birth control?
What symbolism have you noticed throughout the fic?
What do you think the cicadas symbolize in this last chapter?
The reader discovers some photo frames.
Who is John? Who is Mary?
What do you think happened to them, given Dr. Fiennes's reaction?
Why do you think Dr. Fiennes isn't wearing a wedding band?
Discussions are implied to have happened between Dr. Fiennes and the reader's dad. The reader's relationship status was also mentioned in the last chapter and how certain members of her family view it.
What was the nature of the discussions?
How do you think question 3 relates to the nature of the discussions?
Why do you think that the reader's mom was not involved in these discussions?
Title IX
When was Title IX passed?
How does question 1 relate to the potential status of the reader's education?
Where do you think the reader heard the phrase “Do you regularly have trouble with authority?” and why is it a threat?
Warnings: Boss/employee power dynamic, abuse of authority, daddy kink
Summary: The Wizard wants to treat each citizen of Oz as son or daughter. For you, that means punishing you for your disrespect and teaching you some manners. For the 2025 Wizard Discord Secret Santa, dedicated to @weirdworldofwinnie
Word Count: 2,630
AO3 Link
Rafael is a no good son of a witch, and I was going to strangle him when I caught him. He was a delivery boy, just turned twenty, who had grown a sweet spot for me ever since I’d moved up into Administrification. My life was already hard enough trying to keep receipts straight and handling the clients of the Emerald palace. Everyone walked around and over me like they thought they were entitled to something and my time along with it. Rafael happened to be one of them.
I huffed a sigh of frustration as he bounded down an emerald hall, certificate of receipt in hand and a giddy boyish smile on his face. “Rafael!” I shouted after him. “I’m not going to chase you.”
He laughed, stumbling further away. “I’m not going to give it to you for free.”
I knitted my brows as I scanned the deep green marbled floor, wondering where I’d gone so wrong in life to be faced with such stupidity. My lip curled up in disgust as I said, “Free? You have to give it to me!”
He waved the piece of paper like a handkerchief, wrinkling and soiling what had once been perfect and creaseless. “You’ll have to come get it, paper girl,” he said, before disappearing into a door down the hallway.
I couldn't help but stomp my foot before marching after him. It would be a cold day in hell before I let some delivery boy rob me of a job I had just gotten. Only three months in, and here I was chasing after some idiot who had no respect for the sanctity of our great Wizard or his palace. My jaw dropped when I turned the corner.
The Emerald Palace had so very many rooms — libraries and kitchens and indoor gardens and outdoor gardens and even a swimming pool — but none quite like the art room. Various portraits of our Wonderful Wizard covered the walls from floor to ceiling, but there was so much more in there. There was the old Ozma crown, encased in glass — a memory of a time full of darkness and hunger while she lived in luxury. Near the windows, there was a sculpture made of Winkie spears, a vow that the citizens of Oz should never fight each other. Where Rafael stood was next to a multicolored blown glass peacock, one elbow resting on its beak, the other hoisting the receipt high in the air.
“Rafael…” I whispered. If I said it any louder, I was sure that the statue’s neck would snap in half.
“I want to see you after work,” he said, pushing a hand through sweaty hair. “We could go bowling, have a couple of drinks. Maybe I'll take you home afterwards.”
The thought of kissing him turned my stomach and caused my lip to curl again. I walked carefully towards him, trying not to spook his pride. “That sounds pretty boring, don’t you think?” I said.
He leaned further over the peacock, and I swore I could see the back half of the plinth lift up. “You’d rather go back to my place?” he asked.
“I’d rather you get off the artwork,” I said, taking another step closer to him.
“What? This old thing?” he said, grabbing the bird by the beak. He rocked the glass sculpture back and forth, the granite base echoing against the floor with each tilt. “Wouldn’t call it art. Looks ugly.”
My hand lashed out faster than my eyes could follow it, landing with a thump against the cream-colored linen jacket of his uniform. There was a ceramic clunk and rattle of the base shaking back into stability. The safety of the sculpture zipped through my mind when Rafael hoisted the paper higher.
“Give it!” I said. My voice was childish and high-pitched, but I didn't care. I clawed at his cream jacket, trying to bring his arm down within reach.
“This room is off-limits,” a voice cut across the room.
I didn’t often see him, and that made him all the more terrifying. The Wizard prowled the lightless emerald hallways like an old ghost. He had been built with the palace, some would say, and as such, he knew every hallway and hideaway like the body of a lover. I could see the phantasmal resemblance in tired, disapproving eyes and the murky velvet duster that grazed the floor.
I backed off of Rafael, lowering my head in reverence. “Your Ozness,” I said.
The echo of expensive sole on marble drew closer. “You, boy,” the Wizard said, “what's your name?”
“Rafael, sir,” he said.
“Your Ozness,” the Wizard corrected.
I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see that Rafael had turned the color of his delivery boy uniform. I bit my lip, waiting for the Wizard to order him to be hauled off to the dungeon, as he sighed. Oz snatched the paper out of Rafael’s hand, looking over it.
Rafael nodded and said, “My apologies, Your Ozn-”
“Out,” the Wizard said. He flipped the paper over to find nothing on the back. His eyes flicked up to Rafael. “Something wrong with your hearing? I said ‘Out’.”
Rafael stuttered in his steps, but fled from the room just as quickly as he'd entered it.
“You're one of mine, aren't you?” the Wizard grumbled, still looking at the paper.
“Administrification, Your Ozness,” I said, dipping a leg in curtsy.
“This how they teach you to keep receipts down there?” he asked.
“I… I don't understand,” I said.
The Wizard lowered the paper. “You usually pussyfoot telling a man ‘no’?”
I scoffed, stamping my green heel. “I did tell him no!”
The Wizard snorted. “Just like that?”
I snatched the paper out of his hands. Oh my, Oz. I locked eyes with him, feeling the room spin as he looked at the stolen paper.
“They teach you to act like an animal down in Administrification?” he said evenly. He fidgeted with the golden ring on his pinkie, those eyes commanding me to answer.
“I… No, Your Ozness.”
“Your parents, then? They send their brat off to the Emerald Palace? Thought a little hard labor would do you good?”
“It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I was-”
“You're damn right it was a mistake,” he cut me off. His velvet coat flowed behind him as he took a seat in the old Ozma throne — a grand, golden, and scrollworked chair that had been torn out of the throne room so long ago.
“I don't have any parents,” I said. It wasn't true, but I’d rather forget them. It's what they deserved for forgetting me.
Oz looked up, a glint in his eye. “You poor child.”
There was something magical in that glint: a pull that beckoned me closer. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was benevolent, after all. He took pity on the sick and poor and starving Ozians and fed the people when there was nothing to eat. My Emerald Palace-issued heels ticked against the marble as I approached, prepared to beg for mercy at his throne.
“I’m sure you’re- well, you must be exhausted from that… fight,” he said.
“I-”
“Why don't you have a seat?” he said, a kind smile gracing his face as he leaned back into the throne.
The art room was just that — a room for art and artifacts — no extraneous furniture. A quick scan of the room brought my eyes back to him and that smile. “Your Ozness,” I said.
“I insist,” he said, gently tapping his thigh.
I felt like I was moving through water as I took the last few steps and lowered myself into his lap. This close to him, I could see prickles of gray stubble that had yet to be caught by a morning shave. The lapels of his jacket are as soft as a rabbit and scented from past encounters with a smoky perfume.
“You know, I’ve never had a family,” he said, adjusting a tendril of hair by my ear. “It's real, uh, you know… difficult. I’ve got all this… paternal energy, and I just don’t know where to put it. I try to treat all Ozians like my children.”
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” I mumbled. The blood is rushing so fast to my cheeks as I feel myself suffocating under his attention.
“You think so?” he said. “I haven't gotten used to the discipline part, but maybe you could help me fix that.”
“Your Ozness,” I breathed.
“I’d prefer it if you called me Daddy,” he said. Somewhere in all of the suffocating attention, I’d missed his hand coming up to cup my breast through my emerald vest and shirt. He squeezed, and I looked up at him.
He kissed me before I could say anything. His mouth tasted like sour apple cider, and the scratch of his stubble stung in the most delicious way. I squeaked in surprise as he ripped open the front of my blouse, quickly slipping his hand into my bra.
“Your Ozness,” I said against his lips.
He pinched the delicate bundle of nerves, the pain making me jump. “What did I just say?” he said.
I swallowed the shame and breathed out the words, “Yes, Daddy.”
He rewards me with a kiss. “There's a good girl. Now, about that punishment…” he lifted me by my hips, guiding me to straddle his right leg, facing him. “Well, it's not really a punishment, per se…more like teaching you manners. You do have those, don't you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, looking down at where there had once been buttons on my blouse.
“Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of my face with a sharp whistle. “Eyes up here. You ought to look at a person when you're talking to them. Gosh, you really were born in a barn.”
I looked up at him, and a pleased smile crept back onto his face.
“Lovely,” he said. “Such beauty, such goodness — well, soon to be goodness. We’re going to play a game. Does that sound fun?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said. The pressure of his thigh pressing up against my clit caused me to squirm.
“A quick learner too,” he said. “And eager. Don't move until I tell you, darlin’. I want you to put your hands behind your back. I’ll do the moving, okay? We're going to teach you how to ask for things nicely.”
“I know how to say “please”,” I objected, grabbing my hands behind my back. It seemed I was more reliant on my arms for balance than I thought. My core tightened as I fought to keep my center of balance. There was that need to squirm against his thigh again.
“Should've said it earlier,” he said. His hands gripped my hips. “Comfortable?”
I opened my mouth to answer him, but couldn't help the moan as he pulled my hips against his thigh.
“Mmm. Such a beautiful voice. You forgot the magic words, though.”
He pulled my hips again, and I had to fight to keep my hands behind my back. “Yes, Daddy.”
He pulled them again, setting a slow rhythm. “Good girl. I want you to tell me when you're close. Can you use your words for that?”
I felt him tense his thigh underneath me, the coil within me tightening. “Yes, Daddy,” I said.
“I’m so glad you're a good listener,” he said. “I said I wasn't used to this discipline thing — and that's absolutely true. Feel bad, really, but I, uh- you know. The last time I had to dole out… punishment, I just let the monkeys at them. Good lord, what a mess. I don't think they've gotten the stain out yet.”
There was a wet spot forming in my underwear because I could feel how the fabric tugged more with each pass of my swollen clit. I wondered if he was threatening me. If I didn't tell him when I was getting close, would he have the monkeys rip my guts out? “Seems a bit aggressive,” I said.
He bounced his thigh underneath me, and I gasped. He said, “It's actually an improvement. I used to make the monkeys rip their tongues out first.” The Wizard pulled my hips harder against him, and I felt the coil winding tighter still. “Mercy is a learned thing.”
“Then you'll know…” I lost the grip on my words as he tensed his thigh again. I was definitely getting closer. Maybe just a few seconds more…
“Cat got your tongue?” He asked. The grind and drag of my hips stopped. “Maybe you need a break.”
“Please, no,” I said, trying to push my hips forward to get any kind of friction. “I’m close.”
“What was that?” he said. “Maybe you do have manners. But only when getting what you want. Yes… You haven't apologized yet.”
“I said I was sorry!” I said, trying to slide my hips up his thigh. They didn't even budge; his grip tightened since my last attempt.
“You were sorry because you didn't want your punishment. Not really sorry. You didn't beg for your life at my feet — believe it or not, I've had someone do that.”
I tried to move my hips again. “Please, Daddy,” I begged (there was no getting used to that title.) “I promise I won't do it again. I’m sorry.”
“Do you know why what you did was wrong?” he asked, rocking my hips slightly. It was the proverbial carrot.
“You're our Wonderful Wizard of Oz,” I whined. “It’s disrespectful to take things without asking.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, squeezing my ass. “And you think I should let a bratty girl like you cum, have I got that right? Well… It was a first-time offense.”
“I want it more than anything in the world,” I said, trying to rock my hips again.
The Wizard lifted me off his leg and repositioned me so that I was straddling him, my back to his chest. His hand slipped up my skirt and under my tights with a swiftness that told me this wasn’t his first time. Fingers glided through my wetness before sinking into me. “I want a taste,” he purred in my ear. “Make it worth my while, won’t you, darlin’?”
The two fingers that he had slipped within me opened and stretched, massaging the tightness within. I moaned and rocked against his hand, trying to make sure it would be well-coated. My hand found its way into that tousled gray hair of his, and I arched my back against him, begging for mercy.
“I want you to come on my fingers like a good girl,” he breathed.
It was all I needed to send me tumbling over the edge. Contractions hit my body in wave after wave as the words “Daddy, please” passed my lips in a feverish prayer. As they subsided, the Wizard pulled his fingers from me, and — just as promised — slipped them into his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction before pulling them cleaned.
“Sweet like sin,” he said.
What did one do after getting fingered by the Wizard of Oz? I eyed the receipt I had dropped on the floor, thinking about the mountain of paperwork that awaited me back in Administrification. “Your Ozness?” I said, still trying to catch my breath.
“Hmm?”
“May I please go back to work now?”
He laughed and tapped my thigh, motioning for me to get up. “My busy worker bees. Of course! Of course! Just one thing.”
I grimaced at the mess that had been made of my top. I’d definitely need to change that before heading back to the office. “Yes?”
The Wizard gave me a self-pleased smile, resting his head in his hand. “I want to see you after work.”
Breaking News - Vincent Whittman (Vox) x Fem!Reader SMUT
Summary: Vincent fucks you on his newscaster desk while the rest of the studio employees are out to lunch.
Contents/Possible Warnings: Rough sex, Semi-Public Sex (they fuck in an empty news studio), Fingering, PIV Sex, Creampie, Mentions of filimg sex, no actual filmed sex, Degradation, Praise, SMUT, MDNI
You always admired the way he looked while he reported the latest news story; eyes focused on the camera as he read off his notes, the small smile he'd do at the beginning of each segment, the way he'd absentmindedly fidget with the pen in his hand as his co-host spoke, a boredom on his face the average viewer wouldn't pick up on. It all made him so handsome to you, so lovable. Seeing it in black and white on the television was one thing, but seeing it all in color just a few feet away from it all was another. It was almost entrancing.
"That's all for that story, folks," Vincent spoke confidently, smiling into the camera as he brought the report to a close, "and remember, trust us with your news." He finished, and the camera panned out before turning off, leaving a studio full of employees eager to go on break, including him. You moved past the crowd and towards the newscaster's desk, mouth curving into a grin as you came to him, his lunch in your hands. His eyes turned upwards from his papers to look at you, a pleased smirk making its way onto his face at the sight of you visiting him at work, something you didn't always do often.
"You left your lunch at home again," you spoke with a smile, setting it down on the desk.
"Maybe I meant to, after all, it did earn a nice little visit from you," he replied, motioning for you to come sit on his lap. You obeyed, taking a seat on him as you both leaned in, lips meeting in a sweet kiss that Vincent soon turned heated, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as you separated for air. You let out a gasp as he grabbed you by your hips, grinding you down against him.
"Vincent!" You hissed, the sound turning into a light moan. "What's gotten into you?! We're in public!" You scolded, your words falling on deaf ears as his lips moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.
"And? That isn't going to stop me from fucking you right here on this desk," he purred against your neck. "Come on, be a good girl for me." He insisted with a growl, moving down to push the skirt of your dress up, the fabric bunching around the top of your thighs as his hands slipped down to your underwear, tugging them to the side eagerly. A finger slipped into your wet heat, fucking you slowly as he chuckled at the noises slipping out of your lips, and the way you hurriedly covered your mouth with your hands to suppress them.
'V-Vincent," you stuttered, "h-hold on, we'll get in trouble—" you slapped your hands over your mouth again as he added a second finger, then a third not long after, your cunt clenching down on them out of reflex as the pleasure shook your body. It was all happening too quickly, and you were struggling to keep up with every wave of ecstasy that overtook you.
"Fuck, look at you, dripping all over my hand like a slut." He curled his fingers, brushing over your sweet spot, your legs shaking as a jolt of pleasure shot through you, your toes curling. "Hmm? You like that, honey?" He purred, voice sickeningly sweet as he mocked you, repeating the motion. "That's my pretty girl, coming undone all over my hand like the little whore she is." You moaned at his words, head reeling with the rush of it all.
"Vincent 'm gonna cum," you slurred out, barely able to speak as the pleasure began to fog your mind, unsure just how he was managing to fuck you dumb with just his fingers so quickly. "Fuuuck, gonna cum, Vincent! I—" You let out a long, frustrated whine as he pulled his fingers out, the beginnings of your orgasm already starting to ebb away. "Dammit, Vincent!" You hissed.
"Shut up." He growled out, picking you up and laying you on the desk, the lunchbox you had placed on it earlier falling to the ground with a loud 'clang'. "Can't believe how fucking desperate you are right now, just a few minutes ago you were asking what was wrong with me." He pulled your panties down, letting them fall to the studio floor before he moved to unzip his pants. He pulled them down just enough to free his hardened cock, the large tip already leaking pre-cum as he lined himself up with your wet pussy.
He slid in with one swift movement, the desk jolting beneath you both as he began to move, not bothering to give you any time to adjust to the stretch of his cock splitting you open. He let out a pleasured grunt as he began to fuck you, watching his thick cock disappear into your tight cunt with every thrust, your pussy gripping him. "Fuck!" He growled, rutting into you roughly, hips snapping against yours. "That's right, take me like the good little fucktoy you are." He hissed, lips moving back down to your neck, nipping at the flesh, making sure to leave a mark you'd have for weeks to come.
"Can you imagine someone walking in on us? You'd be so fucking beautiful, wouldn't you? Gripping my cock like a whore while you take me, all those little sounds leaving your lips while someone watches." He groaned at the idea, fucking you deeper, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filling the large room. "They couldn't touch you, because you're mine, aren't you, honey? My sweet girl. Come on, baby, say it, say you're all mine."
You moaned in response, head falling back as your eyes screwed shut, unable to speak as he pounded into you, every thrust rougher than the last.
"Answer me." He barked, grabbing your face, "Tell me who you belong to."
"You! I belong to you, Vincent!" You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him even closer. "I'm all yours! Fuck! I don't want anyone else!" He chuckled in satisfaction at your declaration, kissing you roughly, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy as he grew closer to his climax.
"I should get the cameraman in here next time, yeah? Record a nice little movie of you. Maybe I'll show it off to the others, show them what they can't have." He moaned out, rutting into you deeper. "I'm gonna fucking cum," he announced, looking into your eyes. "I'm gonna fill you so fucking deep you'll be dripping for days." He came hard with a long groan, hips stuttering as thick ropes of cum shot into you, spilling onto the desk. You came soon after, shaking with ecstasy as your orgasm ripped through you, clinging onto him desperately as you rode out the last waves.
"Fuck," he panted, hair slick with sweat. "That was the best sex I've ever had." He buried his face into your neck, riding out the last aftershocks of his climax with shallow thrusts before his hips stilled. He pushed himself up off you, sitting back in the chair as his eyes drifted over to the clock.
"You know, we still have a while before the others come back from lunch..."
A/N: I got a lil crazy with this one, but not too crazy. Highly suggest watching the movie Thank God It's Friday before or after reading this. Enjoy :)
<><><>
Los Angeles, California circa 1978…
The sound of the city below my fourth floor window didn’t bother me. Not tonight, at least. My brain decided it was good white noise while I sat at my typewriter and let my creative juices flow.
Work was not pleasant this week. At all. I don’t want to know the amount of milligrams of caffeine I consumed today alone just to bite the bullet. I have the weekend to do what I please and that’s all I can ask for.
Thank God it’s Friday.
Pampered would be the perfect word to describe me at the moment. Showered, shaved, skin cared for, and sporting my new satin tank top and shorts pajama set. One must treat themselves if the budget allows it and my wallet was whispering for some new sleepwear.
Unscented candles cascade my bedroom, my Marvin Gaye record on low, and some tea by my side. The life of a 20-something woman at 2 a.m. when sleepiness hasn’t arrived yet. My friends tried getting me to go to The Zoo tonight. I did have the perfect outfit, but I refused.
I refused to see him.
The 6’4 devil in his deep red suit and gelled back curls. Even his smile dripped with lecherous intentions when he found a lady to pursue for the night.
I happened to be one of them. But boy, did I put up a cat and mouse game for months before letting him have it.
Tony, the owner of The Zoo, was the type to be one and done with women, never returning to the same woman twice. He had quite the reputation for that and honestly, it disgusted me. Until I found out why the reputation was made.
What Tony doesn’t want to admit or let be known: I cracked him.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
Speaking of the devil.
“You really should start to get in the habit of calling before arriving at my door.”
“Hi, Y/N.”
I smirk and step aside to let him in. He keeps his face blank and sheds off his suit jacket, proceeding to roll up his sleeves.
“Another successful night at the office?”
“In money and customers? Of course. In getting any? For once, no.”
“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that’s why you’re here?” I say with faux innocence and a small smile. He glares at me while undoing his belt and whipping it out of the belt loops. He tosses it aside and then starts to take a good look at me.
“Is that a new pajama set?”
“You didn’t answer my question, Di Marco.”
“You already know the answer,” he says in a low tone. The sense of defeat radiates off of him and my God, it’s doing wonders for me right now.
“Yes, but face the facts: you would be here even if you did get what you wanted,” I walk over to him slowly, approaching the prey who thinks he's a high and mighty predator. “For a man who discards women for cheap thrills, you keep coming back.”
“And yet, you keep letting me in,” he bites back quickly.
“Because it rubs my ego better than you rub my-”
He cuts me off with a hard kiss, one that has my arms doing muscle memory of wrapping around his neck. Tony slips his tongue in and my fingers find their way to his hair. That gel doesn’t stand a chance against me and his sweat by the time we get done with our fun.
He pushes me onto my bed and slides my shorts off of me with a fast swipe. I’m on full display for him and he’s looking at me with a mix of wrath and worship.
I want to kick him out and give him the worst blue balls of his life, but after the week I had, I can make the exception.
“You know, I should just walk out right now after the shit you just said,” he says while unbuttoning his trousers. I slide my hand to my clit, but he smacks it away. My face immediately scrunches. “But I have a better idea.”
He retrieves his Halston leather belt off the floor. My eyes widen and I look back up at him.
“And what do you think you’ll be doing with that?”
“Since I’m feeling generous tonight, I’ll let you pick your two options: A) get that ass up in the air for me or B) give me your wrists.”
Only he could give me the itch to slap him hard but also grab him by his shirt and kiss him so hard our teeth clash.
I want nothing more than to do both right now.
I sit up with narrowed eyes and hold out my wrists for him.
“That’s what I thought,” he says above a whisper and gets to work fastening the belt around my wrists. While his eyes are on that, mine are set on his face. His curls slowly come loose, his lips already a bit puffy from mine, the clenched jaw.
Only he could get me to agree to this.
He yanks me to stand up in front of him from the bed. My brain is running over the million possibilities of which fantasy he wants to fulfill with my wrists bound together. Considering I’m the one he has a tough time controlling, I just know he’s going to get a high from this.
Honestly, I’m about to as well.
Tony realizes one little detail he missed: my top.
“Seems like you didn’t plan this that well, huh?”
His eyes bore into mine with a glint of annoyance. His smirks returns and grabs the scissors from my desk and quickly snips my straps. My top drops to the floor and I’m left standing there aghast and very much naked.
“TONY! That was new!”
His hand grabs at my jaw, feeling his long fingers slightly dig into the side of my cheek. He kisses me with a sensuality that has never come from him before. My legs almost give out from the spell he puts over me with just his lips.
“I’ll buy you a new one. Any color. In silk,” he proclaims in between kisses that trail down my neck.
“You couldn’t have just taken the belt off to take it off?”
“Now where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” and his hand slips down to my core while his lips find their home on my neck.
This man knows every button of mine to press. His favorite being the one that causes my head to fall back with my eyes closed. My hands want to snake up his arms, to touch him anywhere. I have no anchor to keep me grounded as I feel his middle finger slip into me.
“Damn, all that because of me, gorgeous?” Tony’s cockiness seeps through his words as he whispers them in my ear. He slips his finger out, going back to his usual toying, spreading my wetness around a bit more.
“Just shut the fuck up and get to work,” I whisper back in his ear flatly. His dry chuckle sends the goosebumps straight to my skin.
“Now you’re just trying to rile a reaction out of me.”
“Is it working?” I ask as my hand finds his boner. By the feel of it, he might not last very long.
I highly doubt that.
I pushed the correct button of his when he spun me around and made me lay on the bed. My arms are lying in front of me with my cheek meeting the softness of my comforter. I feel Tony’s hands guide my hips up into the air, making my legs bend to have my knees prop me up.
I hear him undoing his pants, the sound of his zipper making a chill of sinful anticipation fill me. His pants drop to the floor, but I’m still impatiently waiting to have his hands back on me.
“Excuse me, what is taking you so long?” I ask with an absolutely humorous attitude.
“You can’t be the only one naked here, baby.”
After the sound of his button down hitting the floor, his hands found their way on my ass. One of his hands leaves it, but not for very long after I feel him slowly push himself inside of me.
“Fuck,” I moan out in a whisper while my eyes flutter close and my jaw slowly slacks open a bit.
His infamous reputation, ladies and gentlemen.
Tony knew what he carried and fuck, he knew how to use it.
Once the firm grip on my hips from his oversized hands were set, I knew I was going to be done for.
Tony started going at it, inching towards being merciless with each thrust. The sound of our skin slapping and his hand smacking my ass when he wants to was making me deliciously dizzy.
I’m in heaven.
My moans grew louder when I felt his fingers make their way back to my clit. Not having much use of my hands and him doing what he pleases with me, my climax was arriving at lightspeed at this point.
This was the only time I would ever say Tony’s name over and over out of the sake of releasing my pleasure. This was the only time he would compliment me as if he kissed the ground I walked on while he was over six inches deep inside of me.
Our sex life was the only time we would eat out of the palms of each other’s hands with no regret and shame.
“I could stay inside you all day,” Tony growls, then smacks my ass hard. That one was surely going to leave a hand print.
Being a man of many surprises, Tony grabs a fistful of my hair and proceeds to go harder than before. I was crying out in absolute ecstasy, my whole body on fire in my favorite way.
“F-fuck!” I scream out. My upstairs neighbors could come banging on my door and I wouldn’t answer until we were completely finished. I never will waste a minute when I have this man in my possession, even when I want to tell him off. “Keep fucking me like it’s yours.”
Tony slides out and before I could question why he flips me on my back. He hooks his arms around my lifted legs and yanks me to the edge of the bed.
“I wanna see you lose it,” he says and slides back inside of me. His same tempo comes back, causing me to go back to my usual moaning. With my wrists bound in front of me, I have nothing to grab onto and, my God, it’s killing me.
His hands fly to my tits, holding onto them while his stamina doesn’t falter. One hand leaves and slides down to my clit again.
“Tony, I swear to g-“ but my words were cut short from screaming profanities while he was not holding back. He was rubbing it fast and hard, launching me into my squirming when I knew I was ready to combust.
“Y/N, I will hold you the fuck down if you keep moving like this,” Tony says through gritted teeth.
Before I could even mentally prepare myself, my orgasm shot right through me. My back arches relentlessly while I feel the sweet release.
I’m a woman possessed, eyes rolling in the back of my head while my mouth slacks open once again. Tony doesn’t stop. He never knew how, especially when he got me like this. He adored seeing me in such a state, with the cause being his cock.
His thrusts become inconsistent, a key note that he was ready to finish.
“Come for me, baby,” I lazily moaned. That did it for him. Tony stops abruptly, his own loud, throaty moans spilling out while he processes his own release.
Before he could even slip out of me, Tony undoes the belt from my wrists. Once the brown leather belt made its way back on the floor, I felt Tony collapse on top of me. His face landed in the crook of my neck, his hot breath making my core to pulsate for more.
My typewriter was abandoned and my record player was silent. I couldn’t give a flying fuck after the out-of-body experience I just went through.
With my hands finally freed, I wrap my arms around him. I can’t stand the clamminess of skin after sex, but he was an exception right now.
Hell, he was always the exception.
“Same time tomorrow?” He mumbles. I whack him on his back slightly and he chuckles.
“Are you working the club tomorrow?”
“Of course. It's a Saturday night.”
“Then you better make space on your office desk if I arrive,” I say and start stroking his hair. I can feel him peppering kisses where his lips could reach so he didn’t have to move too much.
“I’ll make sure to request the music to be a bit louder then,” Tony claims and finally slides his cock out of me. I wince from the sudden feeling, but he’s quick to make up for it by giving me a longing kiss on the lips.
This little kiss led us to get comfier on my bed, him still on top of me and just making out. It feels like the perfect sweet treat after demolishing the entrée.
“I know I never do this nor do I allow it but…do you just want to stay the night?” I ask with a certain flatness to it so he won’t detect that I’m hoping he’ll say yes.
“What happened to your rules?”
“Sometimes they can be broken,” I whisper and continue our kissing.
“Well alright then,” Tony says while our lips are a centimeter away from each other and engulfs me in a dizzying kiss that’ll last on my lips for the week.
Warnings: All of them, Medical Malpractice, Vaginal Exam, Crimes against the Hippocratic Oath, Abuse of Authority
Summary: Dr. Wallace Fiennes is a family friend of yours. Seeing you on short notice is the least he could do to repay a few favors.
Word Count: 3,337
AO3 Link
My mom chewed on the plastic coffee stirrer, winding the black spiral cord of the phone around her pointer finger until it turned purple.
“Mhm,” she said into the worn receiver. “Yes… No, no there's no need to get him. He's a friend of Bob and mine. Just looking for an opening.”
The telephone squawked back quietly as I pushed the eggs around my plate. They looked positively rubber, like a plate of pencil erasers dyed yellow. How my dad had managed to eat them before heading out the door to work was beyond me.
My mom had her datebook open and penciled something in it for the Friday of the following week. “Yes, yes we can be there. I really do appreciate it, and please let the doctor know he's always welcome to drop by for dinner. I really can't thank him for taking her on such short notice.”
I pushed the yellow globs around on my plate as they made their polite goodbyes and then the receiver clicked.
“You need to eat up,” my mom said. “I'm driving you up to that interview and I don't need them pulling you out of the building in an ambulance because you passed out.”
I skewered some of the erasers and gnawed on them. I bet city girls didn't have to eat plastic breakfast.
______________________________
The names “Perkins & Fiennes” were stenciled on the paint-thick door that led to the cramped lobby — 2 chairs and a coffee table that took up more room than it had a right to. The gold carpet and cheap wood-paneled walls wafted the smell of menthol cigarettes if you leaned too close to either of them; it was foreign compared to home, but not unusual. It reminded me of my friend Patty's bedroom, how she would suck in her menthol Lucky Strikes as we thumbed through old issues of Vogue and talked about our plans for that summer.
My summer hadn't been going the way I planned it. All of the summer jobs had already filled up while I was sick with a bug I'd brought home from college. The businesses left didn't seem thrilled that I couldn't break 60 words per minute on their tests. Now, to top it all off, my period was two weeks late as I sat there in the waiting room. My mom said there was no need for me to go to a “lady" doctor, and my pediatrician had politely dismissed her from his waiting room, citing my adult age.
It wasn't new, her refusing to let me grow up. College had reminded me so much of the time I'd fallen off a boat we had rented for summer vacation after the third grade: kicking and hitting at the unforgiving water as the weight of my child body and gravity pulled me down, water splashing into my nose and mouth, threatening to kill, until a hand yanked me skyward and back to the safety of the boat. It had been like that. I coughed and sputtered water as I heaved clean air and freedom in, trying to stop shaking as I made sense of what being an adult with no parent looking over your shoulder meant.
The door opened and a nurse with dark curls and red lipstick that made her uniform whiter looked at her clipboard and called my name.
I grabbed my wicker purse, and as my mother stood with me the nurse said, “Actually, Dr. Fiennes wanted to speak with you ma'am. If you don't mind, I'll just take her back and get some vitals.”
My mother sat back in the chair, and said, “S-sure. I've been meaning to invite him over properly.” She didn't say, Just come get me when she's ready, but I knew she'd find a way to weasel herself back into the patient room. I enjoyed the small freedom and victory as I slipped between the nurse and the door jamb and heard the the wooden tap as it shut.
The nurse, my savior, took me back to the scale, took my weight and height, and then silently guided me through the two foot hallway to one of two patient rooms. “Dr. Fiennes will be in to see you shortly,” she said and then left.
Dr. Fiennes desk sat at the head of the alcohol-scented room, covered in papers and correspondence. As I pushed further into the room, I wondered if he had a secretary that could type over 60 words per minute and did all of his boring paperwork for him. The wall behind his desk was neatly decorated with oak frames, a band of gold inlaid in them, filled with different diplomas that said Wallace J. Fiennes and pictures of him shaking hands and standing with other men in white coats.
“I promise they're real.”
I stumbled into the desk, not realizing how far I'd been craning over it. My hands were hot as they slid on cards and papers in an attempt to balance myself.
“Shit,” I said as some of the papers landed on the floor. I bent to pick them up, but Dr. Fiennes was quicker.
“I didn't mean to scare you like that,” he said, gathering up the papers faster than my hands could reach for them. “No, no. I can't have you crawling on the floor. Please, take a seat. It's my fault.”
I righted myself and the foggy photos became clear. I'm sure I'd seen him before, peaking from a shadowed hallway when I should have been in bed as guests of my parents sipped cocktails and nibbled on crackers, Bing Crosby crooning over the record player that sat in the corner of our living room. He unfolded himself to a stature that was taller than my father's, his hair also grayer than my dad's. It had been combed over gently in a neat but unmilitary fashion, some of the hairs falling out of place against his forehead, not quite reaching his nearly circular acetate frames.
I backed away, feeling too close as he seemed to take up more of the paper-cluttered office than I had anticipated. He piled the cards back onto the desk just neat enough so they wouldn't slide down the cluttered mountain like an avalanche. The visiting chair across from his was piled equally as high.
“The exam table, please,” he said, the words almost choking him. “I'm embarrassed, really. These things, they should all be filed, but I just haven't…” He took a stack of papers and tapped them neat, improving barely on the shuffled mess. His dark eyes met mine and it jolted me to look for the exam table.
The padded white metal altar sat in the corner of the room, shoved behind a gauzy white privacy screen. Holding my wicker purse against my stomach, I climbed on top of the cotton “mattress", watching as Dr. Fiennes rooted around in a desk drawer until he produced a stethoscope and a bizarre almost L-shaped piece of metal.
“Your mom said you were having some sort of menstrual problems, is that right?” he asked, dragging over a standing metal tray. The wheels squeaked horribly, but not for long. Once at the table, he tapped my thigh, motioning for me to swing my legs over to the shorter side of it. I obliged him and he opened up metal drawers on the long side of the table, pulling out rectangular pieces of glass and bottles of liquid and other bits and bobbles.
“Menstrual?” I asked.
The rummaging stopped and he looked up at me, adjusting his glasses from where they had slipped. “Your period, honey.”
The pet name and my own lack of knowledge sent fire to my cheeks as I hugged the wicker purse tighter. “I was supposed to get it two weeks ago,” I mumbled.
Dr. Fiennes set the glass and liquid on the tray next to the piece of metal from his desk drawer. It looked like some alien space gun. “It was regular before?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He hooked the black tubing of the stethoscope into his ears, rubbing the metal head quickly against the back of his hand. “I'm not used to these kinds of visits, but we did all of it in medical school.” He slid the still cold head beneath the low lapel of my red and white gingham summer dress. I had to fight the chill that coiled up my spine. Even though the stethoscope was cold, his hands were warm and the tips of them fanned from my collarbone to the edge of my chest, one pinky gently resting against the swell of my breast. “I owed your father a favor, and I don't blame him. That idiot on the other side of town wouldn't know a fibula from a femur.”
I tried to control my breathing as he glided the stethoscope up a bit. “What's a fibula?” I asked, looking up at him.
“You know, I think I do remember your dad saying something about you going to college. Smart girl.”
The corners of my lips tug upwards. “I wish. If I had really been smart I would have gotten a job before I left for the summer.”
Dr. Fiennes smirked at that, removing the stethoscope to place it on my back. “A pretty thing like you shouldn't be working. You should be enjoying the summer. Deep breath for me.”
I did as told, letting the air flood my lungs. As I exhaled, I said, “I'm trying to move to New York City. I need everything I can get.”
He moved the stethoscope, waiting as I breathed in. “I'm sure your dad could help.”
I exhaled. “I haven't told him,” I said.
The silence sterilized the already clean room as we locked eyes. Dr. Fiennes adjusted his glasses before removing the stethoscope, first one ear and then the other. He walked to the door and shut it.
“Was my…” I started, swallowing the sentence in a moment of embarrassment. What a childish question, to ask where your mother was. This was what I had wanted anyways.
“Hm?” he asked.
“Nothing, Dr. Fiennes,” I said.
“Please, call me Wally,” he said. Back at the exam table he laid me back on the white mattress. The mattress did nothing to conceal the hardness of the metal underneath. I shifted, trying to get used to the discomfort of my shoulder blades poking straight through the cushion.
“Wally,” I said, testing the name out.
“It sounds good when you say it.” He towered over me with a smile, taking his time to roll up his sleeves. I tried not to look too hard at the long but well-built arms.
“So, what is your specialty?” I asked.
Sleeves rolled up, he placed both hands on my stomach. “Me? Nothing that your pretty little ears should hear.”
He pressed and kneaded against my stomach, and I realized just how knotted it had become. Sometimes I got that funny feeling when thinking about a boy that I liked or a girl that looked really pretty. Sometimes if I could hear the snoring from my parents room, I would take the pillow I had embroidered in Home Economics and put it between my thighs. It felt good, even though I was pretty sure it was wrong. “I can handle it,” I said.
He paused in his kneading, giving me a paternalistic smile. “I help sick people feel better,” he said.
“Isn’t that what all doctors do?”
His eyes flashed briefly before stooping to the drawers below the table to pull out a cloth. “I help people who aren’t right in the head feel better,” he said, all the warmth having gone out of his voice.
“I- I bet you’re amazing at it,” I say, trying to smooth the situation.
“Do you have sex?” he asked, draping the cloth over my stomach and legs.
The fire was back in my cheeks as I immediately denied it.
“I wouldn’t tell your parents,” he said. “You wouldn’t be the only one. It’s very common.”
Some of my friends had gone all the way. Helen had even gotten pregnant and her parents had made her get married at the church in the next town over. In a way, I was jealous. The farthest I had gone was with John after prom. He had showed me how he liked to be stroked in the bar room his parents had in their basement.
“No. I don’t,” I said.
Wally pulled something out of the end of the table and snaked his hand underneath my skirt, feeling his way up my thighs until he caught hold of my underwear. My heart thumped harder, wondering if he would be able to see what I had done in the middle of the night with the little embroidered pillow. “Have you ever had a pelvic exam before?”
My head felt like it was spinning as he slid my underwear down my legs and then folded it and placed it on top of the metal tray. “N-no,” I said. “Maybe? I’ve never done this before, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He grabbed my ankles, letting my Mary Janes rest on whatever had come out of the end of the table. “Probably not then,” he said. He dragged the metal tray closer to the end of the table and slipped on a white rubber glove. “This may be a little uncomfortable and cold. Let me know if anything feels painful.”
Wally grabbed the alien piece of metal and lifted the sheet. “You’re going to feel a bit of pressure…”
The cool air of the office sapped the heat from my privates and the rest was sapped as he pushed the metal into me. I blinked and gasped, trying to make sense of the new sensation, the metal plunging into me. “I… It feels weird.”
Dr. Fiennes raised his head up over the sheet. “You’re doing very well. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
I said, “No,” feeling the metal become somehow… more. It felt like a cold balloon within me expanding, filling until it stopped. “Is it done?”
Dr. Fiennes rubbed my thigh reassuringly. “Soon. When you bleed, how much is it usually?”
“The normal amount?” I said, watching him grab a tube with a bulb. “I go through about a sanitary napkin a day, sometimes two at the beginning.”
A quiet “Jesus” came from underneath the cloth as I felt something nudge within me. “When you go to the bathroom, are you usually this wet?”
Why is he asking me about the bathroom? Oh my god! I stumbled over my words but pushed out something that conveyed that, no, all of my bathroom experiences had been normal.
“Do you touch yourself?” he asked.
“What?” I said, my voice cracking.
“Do you touch yourself?” he said more gently, more quietly. “Do you touch yourself to feel good?” Wally rose above the curtain once more, and I had to look away. This was my dad’s friend and he was asking me if I touched myself, if I pleasured myself.
“No,” I whispered. It was technically true. I didn’t touch myself: only the pillow did.
“It’s fine if you do,” he said. “It might actually help with your problem. I can’t see anything cancerous and your hymen was still intact. You’re not pregnant.” Wally grabbed a bottle from the metal tray and I felt the pressure lessen, the metal twist, and then the pressure increase again. The bottle sputtered and then he put it back on the tray. “Sometimes the uterus needs a little help. It’s like taking laxatives if you’re constipated.”
As full as I was, I felt something push up inside of me, his fingers I thought, nudging and igniting that knotted feeling I had used the little pillow to soothe. At some point, what had started as embers had caught fire and I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped.
“Good girl. Just like that. It’s important that you relax.” He shifted and I felt another finger begin to feel outside of me, nudging what I had gotten used to satisfying with silk thread and cotton.
I groaned, my hips tilting forward, pulling my back off the table. “Dr. Fiennes.”
“Wally,” he corrected, pressing harder inside of me. It was different, the sensation he was able to draw from me within. The pillow was slower and more sensitive, but inside…
He pressed again and I heard the wet squish. It was the kind of squish of accidentally stepping into a rain puddle, your sock becoming soaked in your shoe and the water with nowhere to go but to squish. The feeling within felt that way too. As we locked eyes over the medical cloth, I felt the awful beast twist within me. It was a warning, like when you were going to be sick, like something big was about to happen to your body.
“You do touch yourself at night,” he said, the lightest shine of sweat covering his forehead “You're… you're not flinching.” He readjusted himself, coming to stand between my legs as his fingers pressed harder and quicker.
I don't know if I denied or confirmed, but the beast inside me began squeezing it's jaws tighter and tighter as I felt the inevitable coming. Wally placed his ungloved hand over the red and white gingham that covered my stomach.
“I know. You probably feel like it's too much. You can let go. It's good to let go. We're going to make you feel better.”
As I stared into the cold glasses, I couldn't help but feel relieved. Maybe it was his bedside manner, but I felt myself fall over the edge as pleasure flooded me. What had once been powerful in squeezing, now felt almost pathetic as I fought against the unforgiving and wide metal. I twisted on the table as my body succumbed to what it had only known in the privacy of my own room, now laid bare for Dr. Wallace Fiennes. He pressed harder down against my stomach trying to restrain my flailing but, oh. Heavens did that feel good.
I whimpered and he growled, “That’s it. Good girl. Beautiful, marvelous.” The contractions slowed as I came down from the high of him and the rubbing alcohol scented room. “How are you feeling?”
My words seemed to swirl in a whirlpool around how his hand was caressing sweetly over my lower stomach. “I- It’s… I think I’m feeling better?”
“Any cramps?” he asked.
“I don’t think so?”
“That’s okay. That’s okay.” Dr. Fiennes collapsed and pulled the alien metal from me and I tried not to blush. The ache that it left felt good. To be under him, giving myself up to him… “I want to schedule a follow-up in a week from now, if that’s alright.”
“Is it necessary?” I asked. “I’d have to check with-”
“Completely,” he said, looking at me over the top of his acetate frames. He was washing the alien metal at the nearby sink. “I’ll have to process the slides, but stuff like this can easily be cancer. The earlier we catch it, the better.”
“Oh,” I said, focusing on the way his fingers glided in and out of the contraption. The same fingers that had just been inside me.
“Oh,” he said as I sat up on the table, “if you’re serious about it I have an opening for a, uh… a secretary. This place is such a mess, I just never get around to it. I’ll be sure to tell your mother when you leave. The job is yours if you want it.”
I smiled, not sure what to say to that. My mom would insist that I take it. I knew she was already tired of having me around the house.
He placed the piece of metal into a bucket labeled ‘sanitation’ and then grabbed my panties off the tray and handed them to me.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said.
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