PineappleCasket

33. Gross, Disgusting, DeadDove enthusiast. My name is Kai/Puppy. Full NSFW on twt https://pineapplecasket.straw.page

[geekazoidfreak]

[saytome13]

Forehead man

[pineapplecasket]

He's just a guy

[cosmic-giraffe]

[va-5-ya]

[daranation]

My first time trying clip studio paint, i feel like krita is easier to use.

[geekazoidfreak]

[threejiji]

[ickyyucks]

the warden is literally so bbg

[lilacpandorablog]

[unfairlyfallen]

Here is just the main sketch pose.

Despite his everything, he's kind of beautiful...

CW: Substance abuse.

[unfairlyfallen]

The Easterman poses page that I finished the other day, he is THRIVING as always. Flourishing and fulfilled...

As a side note, my headcanon Easterman design has gynecomastia.

(Original reference images under the cut)

CW: Substance abuse, heavy drinking, chain-smoking. Hendrick Joliet Easterman.

And the individual poses:

[mournedknight]

coyle save me save me from art block please save me

[ordnancee]

they're so nin coded

[kelsi-w]

ultraviolet ₊⊹

[narccicunt]

BE MY DADDY TONIGHT, NIGHT, NIGHT

۶۟ৎ CAMGIRL!READER X DOCTOR. EASTERMAN ۶۟ৎ

۶۟ৎ TAGS : AFAB! Reader, Fem Pronouns, Mutual Masturbation, Mentions of substance abuse, Easterman being pathetic but also an egotistical pervert. ۶۟ৎ

He should have known. Sloppy work. Testing his confines, slowly, and agonizingly pushing it past its limits warrants whiplash. It’s temptation. Gluttony. Hendrick sighs, his jaw clenched, muscles pulled tight under his teeth. 

He needs a replacement. A new vice, and fast. Before he can leave himself in another puddle of his own piss and drool, before Avellano’s administers a vacation, one outside of his own volition and say. 

There, he found you. Sweet, ripe you. 

Hendrick was familiar with sex work, of course. Although, he could never privy prostitutes; the expectation, the skinship. The frustration. It was too much.

But you, you were perfect. Just out of reach. Painfully delectable. Of course, he had all the resources in reach to find you, keep you. If he wanted to. Only he didn’t, the screen was a nice precaution. It’s a lot easier to pretend when you can’t see him, debase himself behind the screen, and once your sessions over, he’ll be the director once again. A doctor, a professional. 

He curses under his breath, painfully pushing his nail back on his desk in anticipation. The private session should be starting soon. And before he can kick the screen off in frustration, there you are. 

Like a heel lifted off his chest, Hendrick feels like he can breathe again; you ignite in him something akin to want, the realization nearly makes him nauseous. Despite the lurching in his stomach, he’s very aware of the tightness in his loins. 

You’re in a more delicate get up this time; soft and lacey, with socks riding up to your knee, ribbons dancing along the hem. 

“Hi, hi. I ran into some, uh, technical complications. How are you, Doctor?” 

SpyderILamb: How darling of you to ask. I’m doing fine.

SpyderILamb: And what did I tell you about calling me Doctor? 

A smile stretches on your face, a meek giggle sounding past his screen. “Oh, I’m sorry, Daddy.” Positioning yourself on your back, Easterman gets a delicious view of your delicates, so teasingly hidden behind white lace. “Is that better?”

SpyderILamb: My name would’ve been just fine. Although, I’m not so opposed to being your Daddy. 

SpyderILamb: I do take care of you, don’t I?

“Mm, yes. Yes you do.” You stutter, a sigh breaking past your lips. He does take care of you. Good care of you. In fact, when he first became your top donor, you were almost concerned. He’d been tipping leagues past what your previous top donors could. There couldn’t be any competition. Finding out he was a doctor alleviated some of that worry, at least his job paid well, you’d be burdened with guilt otherwise. 

You’ve had a taste for the finer things, thanks to him. He had you living comfortably, you figured, it’d be nice to treat him, too. Private sessions with Doctor. Easterman quickly became an arrangement - and not that he’d ever admit it to himself, but it’d become something he damn near needed to function.

He sighs, palming his groin. Applying more and more pressure, slowly. Slowly. 

SpyderILamb: Feeling shy, Lamb? 

“Maybe.” Through the soft lace of your underwear, you gently rub at your clit. Hips bucking up in want. “I’m not really sure.” 

SpyderILamb: Sweet, lost Lamb. I can be your shepherd. 

SpyderILamb: Do you need me? Tell me you need me. 

“I need you, please.” You sob, a broken noise lost between a sigh and a giggle. “Tell me what to do, Daddy.” 

SpyderILamb: So desperate. 

SpyderILamb: You can touch yourself. Do it slow.

Easterman winces, the tip of his cock flushing red from how tight he’s gripping it. He wishes he could be there, touching you. Doing the touching for you. A limp doll to tease and touch and mold. To take care of. He’d run his fingers over yours, guiding you to please yourself nice and slow. 

He watches, the tension in his eyebrows nearly painful when he squints. Iron coating his tongue when he bites at his lip. He watches you pull your panties aside to touch yourself. Focused in on your fingers as they sink into warm wetness. Your other hand coming down to play with your clit. 

If only he were there. He would leave no inch of skin unattended, nothing untouched. He’s nothing if not thorough. It would be ecstasy. It would be torture. 

SpyderILamb: Beautiful.

SpyderILamb: You can speed up now, Lamb. I know what you like.  

You’re mumbling to yourself, a picture of madness, slurring thank you’s and need you’s. A beautiful spiral. 

From the corner of your screen, he can see your toys readily laid out on a towel. It looks almost surgical. 

The sounds of your slick ring out in his ears. A familiar, thick wet sound he’s heard in piles of guts and bodies, only with you it’s different. Delicious. A different sadism.

SpyderILamb: So wet. Sounds like you’re ready.

SpyderILamb: Well? don’t keep me waiting.

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry, Doctor.”

Hendrick sighs, shaking his head as if you could see him. He ought to be more firm. 

SpyderILamb: Silly girl.

“Daddy. I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

If only. If only, if only. If he were a better man; he’d have you here. His darling girl, bent over his lap. He’d show you some strongarm. Teach you discipline the way you need it.

I have to get my shit together, he thinks.

SpyderILamb: Father forgives you. 

SpyderILamb: Go ahead and make yourself feel good. Make Daddy proud.

He watches as you pick up your dildo. A smaller variety from your collection that Hendrick had chosen to accommodate to his…grievances. It still did the job, no less.

His own cock is twitching, dripping with pre despite a lack of any stimulation. He’s content simply suffocating himself. His fist still squeezing near the tip. Restraint is good. 

Tremors run down your spine as you tease yourself, pushing the dildo past your hole and bumping it against your clit. Sometimes, you try to picture him; Doctor. Easterman. Each and every time he only comes to you in a blur.

Darkness eating at the corners of your eyes, a glimpse of gloves and a metallic tang in your mouth. He never told you what kind of doctor he was. You’re never given enough to come to a conclusion. Only that he’s loaded and has an odd fixation with being your Daddy; taking care of you, guiding you and the suchlike.

Despite everything he leaves unanswered. He’s decent. Nice. You might even say you like him. 

Easterman pulls his fist back, watching as his cock twitches at the slightest brushes of cold air. You whimper each time the rubber tip bumps your clit. So sensitive. Following your lead, Easterman rubs the slit of his tip. Tempted to taste himself on his pointer finger: no doubt, it’d be the taste of defeat.

He can’t believe himself. He displayed more restraint pissing in potted plants. This was beneath him. 

He grits his teeth as you finally sink it in, a broken grunt tearing from his throat as you moan. He pumps himself, agonizingly slow, squeezing himself tight and then tighter. 

SpyderILamb: Wonderful.

You keen at his praise, smiling at your screen as you continue to fuck yourself on rubber. Angling it just right to push against that sweet, gummy spot inside of you. “You’re so good to me, Daddy. Always taking care of me.”

Easterman chuckles in self-satisfaction, stroking himself just a bit faster. 

“Am I making you feel good? Daddy?”

SpyderILamb: Of course. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time. 

You seem almost dizzy at his praise, your head lolled back where he can briefly make out your lips breaking out between a smile and an open moan. “I’m so glad. I wanna take care of you, too.” 

You spread your legs apart wider so your fingers have more room to roam, finding your clit. The added stimulation churns more heat in your lower stomach. 

Hendrick can’t help himself when his hips buck up to meet his fist, a poor caricature of a warm and waiting hole. Your warm and waiting hole. He’s stuck wishing as he follows your pace. More blood pooling on his tongue the harder he bites down on the skin of his lip.

“I’m so close, Daddy. Fuck- Are you gonna cum? Wanna cum with you.” You whine, the hand pumping the rubber into you stuttering the more you approach release.

SpyderILamb: yes

SpyderILamb: m getimg there.

You giggle to yourself. He’s lost himself, you’re sure of it. “Fuck- Cum with me, Daddy.” 

Behind the screen, Hendrick nearly sobs. Fucking his one fist while the knuckles of the other dig into the tender skin of his forehead. Pain and pleasure. 

He finishes with you, the symphony of your sobs and whines are tuned out by his own heartbeat in his ears. 

“Did- Did you cum? Daddy?” Hendrick looks back up to see you pouting at your camera, a pool of your own slick dripping out of your pussy and onto the towel beneath you. “I'd be so sad if you didn’t.”

SpyderILamb: I did. Thank you.

SpyderILamb: You were wonderful. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You grin. Sitting back up, you sigh as you lay back down on your stomach. Batting your lashes back up at your webcam. “I’ll be seeing you again at the same time next week hopefully.” 

SpyderILamb: Rest assured, you’ll be hearing from me again, Lamb. 

SpyderILamb: I had a lovely time. Alas, work calls.

“I understand, Doc- Daddy. If it ever gets too much for you, you could always send me a private message.” 

SpyderILamb: I’ll keep that in mind.

SpyderILamb: Goodbye, for now.

The sound of him slamming his screen down is resounding. He picks up a cigarette, his pants still around his ankles. The smoke filling his lungs.

He shakes, pressing the cigarette into the skin of his inner thigh. Sizzling, burnt flesh overriding his senses. This is a new feeling, entirely.

You are ecstasy. You are torture. 

[theactofknowing]

peeping tom

“The outside world is sick, killing itself like a snake swallowing its tail. Let Daddy be your medicine. Let me take care of you the way no one else can.”

OR:

Dr. Easterman catches a private moment on the cameras.

tags: THIS IS SMUT. Daddy kink, pseudo-incest (kinda??? he does his father/daddy shtick lol), NON-CON voyeurism (but reader would be into it if they knew), AFAB reader-insert, no pronouns, just a vagina mention lolol

wc: 1.3k … short :(

A face among the crowd: that's all you were at the start. Dr. Easterman recalls reading the report of your first trial: a massive failure, it was evident why society discarded you. You weren't entirely a lost cause, though. You had passion, albeit misplaced, which you used to protest the therapy, the facility, the personnel. He could redirect this quality of yours. All you needed was a father's love.

Not that you harnessed your potential. Rather, you pouted in your cell day in and out, much like a petulant child, refusing to participate anymore. Couldn't you see the good he wanted to do? Couldn't you see that volunteering to be part of this facility was for your benefit? Have it your way then, for ungrateful children deserve no privileges.

The scientists recommended re-purposing you as they do with the failures, the discards, to be nothing more than a body in a trial. The idea did nothing but irritate him—for them to act like they know better than him, to doubt him. He waved them away and ordered the personnel to strip you of what little your cell owned, to reduce your food portions to the bare minimum, so you could learn to be thankful.

Your behavior fixed itself shortly thereafter.

In the months since your arrival, your seed has sprouted. Only a little longer nourished in the fertilizer will your petals come into full bloom, pristine against this sadistic grime. You’re not perfect, not yet. Your record’s tarnished by the occasional stumble into a trap, or a stab in the back—except for today’s exemplary performance. He's become familiar with your name—purposefully scanning through the endless list of names—whenever a day's progress report graces his desk. He made sure to leave a message of personal praise on your cell's radio.

It's later when he’s perusing through various files, progress reports, financial expenses, that he decides can wait when he tosses them aside, rather choosing to idle through the camera feed. A large station sits against an empty wall in his office that he situates himself at. There's only a few cameras across the facility; the surveillance system was costly, but the sacrifice is worth it when he grows increasingly paranoid by the day. He can't afford for anything to be amiss.

There's hardly anything interesting. A few lingering faces in the dining hall that he recognizes, ones who don't serve much of a purpose. He'll rectify that. The other few cameras produce similar, or no, results.

He switches the camera a final time and it reveals you, your personal cell. You've shut the curtains in an attempt to block out the hall light—you'll lay down to rest soon, he knows your routine—only the combined visibility of the desk lamp and a few ambient candles illuminate you.

Even with the diminished quality of the cameras, he can see the items in your cell. It's certainly upgraded from what you started with; there's a bookshelf, filled end-to-end with books he himself picked out for you. Media on topics such as modern art and familial dynamics… he's sure you've read them all by now. Many of the items and trinkets that decorate your room are unique to only you.

You're a parallel to him; sitting at your personal station. Your profile shines bright from where you rest your cheek in your hand, sitting idly at your desk. You fiddle with the radio, visibly bored with what little there is to do. After a moment, he sees interest seeping into your spine, posture straightening. You must be listening to the message he recorded for you today. It's longer than his usual recordings—you adjust the machine and he figures you must be replaying the audio, attentive as you first were.

For a moment he’s unsure of your intentions when your eyes check the door and your hand drifts into your lap. Quickly, he realizes that your hand’s slipped beneath your underwear, moving in quick circles beneath the rigid barrier. The blood rushes to his cock so quick that he’s almost nauseatingly lightheaded.

He takes a heavy drag from his now limply held cigarette to stabilize himself, letting the nicotine wash over him and coat his lungs as he recalls the recording you’re reverently masturbating to:

“The outside world is sick, killing itself like a snake swallowing its tail. Let Daddy be your medicine. Let me take care of you the way no one else can.”

Your hand circles your clit even quicker. The camera angle’s poor but he can see the tight pinch of your brow, are you pushing yourself? Are you basking in the masochism, reveling in the sharp edge of too soon, too fast?

Hands shaking, he knows the only course of action is to relieve himself. He pushes his pants aside only enough to free his aching cock, grip weak with exhilaration that he manages to wrap around himself. There’s enough pre cum that it’s nearly too slick—intoxicating.

In the haze of lust, he sees your mouth slacken and face twist in pleasure. He so desperately wishes for the cameras to have audio, to hear your whimpering and submission to the onslaught of overstimulation you force upon yourself.

"I'll make you perfect. You are a canvas, waiting for your final masterpiece of masochism and perversion to mark your skin."

You’ve already become so obedient and pliant; yet he aches to break and build you back up, to mold you on his cock.

His mind reels with images of you, how he want to take you. You'd be gorgeous beneath his desk, on your knees like some common whore, waiting to suck his cock like it's the only thing that matters in the world. The painting in his head shifts: you're on your knees, pussy presented like an animal in heat, sultry eye behind your shoulder pulling him in. Only he can satisfy you. You need his cock; you need Daddy.

Cock throbbing, he chokes himself on nicotine as to not lose himself so soon. You writhe on the footage, bordering on humping your hand as your thighs clamp around your wrist, desperate to cum. Bite marks litter across your finger from where you bite down, like you're strung so tight from your arousal that you can hardly control your noises without it. His eyes laser focus on your covered hand, rapidly pumping his cock in time with you.

His heartbeat's in his throat. He's unsure if he's even breathing anymore, floating on the high.

"Can you feel it? Can you feel my gentle caress on you, painting our crimson future? The world will be perfectly colorful and obedient with you in it."

Your finger drops from your once-again slack mouth and your eyes screw shut. He's so close, he can feel the waves of pleasure licking his spine, water against the rocks. Sudden as it started your back bows, quivering chest pointed towards the camera as your head falls back. He can practically hear it now, your unashamed moans as you fall over the edge. He falls with you, coating his hand with his cum as he tries his hardest to not whimper.

You've yet to stop. You continue fucking yourself well past your crest, body twitching in jolts of pain because you can't, won't stop, not yet. His cock twitches in sadistic glee.

"My muse. I have great things planned for you."

As he watches you come down, exhausted and fingers slick, he thinks he'll have to gift you something grand.

hope u enjoyed. i tried to keep his mannerisms and behavior accurate but i’m only human 😓😓😓

fic also posted on my AO3, fishysticks !!

requests r open :)