Day 198: We all wanted Lionel to turn around and - let’s just admit it…. Too bad he knew we‘re all pervs and had his favorite plushie to thwart our naughty shenanigans. 😅
This morning, our staff arrived in the office and found a bulky envelope waiting for us, marked: Lionel Shabandar sex tape.
Needless to say, the ladies in our staff raced to watch it and they can testify - it's real, folks. No deepfakes or lookalike actors. Media mogul Lionel Shabandar is… Read more
Ironically, you were bent over the kitchen table when it happened.
Somewhere in the cacophany of your moans, Lionel's growls and the wet sounds of hips pounding against your arse, you heard Lionel's mobile ringing.
"Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!" the phone announced, because of course Lionel's ringtone was the opening song from the Lion King.
"That fucking ringtone," you groaned in frustration.
Lionel just chuckled in the infuriatingly attractive and obnoxious way that he did, and kept pounding into you, ignoring the phone.
It stopped after a minute, and you breathed a sigh of relief — only to hear, only a few moments later:
"Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!"
You ignored it again, trying to pay attention to the way Lionel's cock was stretching you out — and fortunately, shortly after the phone began to ring a third time, Lionel's hips stilled as he let out a long groan, and you felt the familiar warm feeling of his seed filling you up.
He leaned over you and kissed your shoulder gently, murmuring words of praise as he carefully pulled out of you — and his phone began to ring again.
"Just answer it, Li," you sighed.
"Someone had better be bloody dead," Lionel grumbled. He pulled up the pants and trousers he'd left pooled around his ankles when he'd spontaneously decided to fuck you over the table, and you heard his bare feet on the carpet as you carefully pushed yourself upright, legs still trembling slightly.
"What is it?" Lionel snapped into the phone. "No, I haven't. … Why?"
There was a long silence. Then:
"…Shit."
You looked over at him and saw what could only be described as sheer dread on his face. Confident, self-absorbed Lionel Shabandar looked as if the person on the phone had just told him his art collection had burnt down and his entire stock portfolio was suddenly worth zero.
He turned away from you and quickly hurried into the next room, phone still glued to his ear as he listened to what the caller had to say.
You quickly grabbed the robe you'd discarded earlier and wrapped it around yourself. You knew whatever Lionel was hearing was bad, and you knew you'd only get in the way if you followed him for answers, so instead you pulled your own phone out of the robe's pocket to search Lionel's name and see if whatever it was was in the news.
Oh, it was in the news alright. It was on Google, Facebook, Twitter, News of the World, the BBC — every media outlet, every social media network, almost every webpage on the entire internet that Lionel didn't own had the same headline.
LIONEL SHABANDAR SEX TAPE LEAKED
Your hand flew to your mouth. That was supposed to be private! He had begged you and begged you for weeks to let him film it.
"It's only for my eyes, darling — and yours, of course. I want to see every angle of you as you take my cock."
He had even filmed it on an old camcorder, on physical tape — nothing digital, nothing that could be hacked. It would never, ever leave his penthouse.
The top trending tag on Twitter was already #shabandarsextape, followed by #shahbandarsextape for those who couldn't spell.
You knew it was a bad idea, but you tapped on the tag anyway and looked through the tweets.
Damn, Shabandar's dick is as big as his ego.
Is Lionel Shabandar single? Asking for a friend (me)
What I wouldn't give to be in Kylie Minogue's shoes… certainly do NOT want to be in [Y/n] [L/n]'s shoes though.
You frowned, confused, at the last tweet. You scrolled a little further, and found someone had actually posted the video, rather than just talking about it — and just from the thumbnail, you could see that it was not your sex tape.
Lionel had filmed it in his bedroom in the penthouse. The background was the bedroom wall you saw every day, with the giant painting of a roaring lion — it was most certainly not a window looking out onto a bright blue ocean.
You tapped on the video, which filled your screen and began to play.
It was not your sex tape — but it was Lionel's.
And Kylie Minogue sounded just as good in bed as she did on the radio.
You knew you should look away, but somehow you couldn't bring yourself to. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen, your thumbs suddenly unable to reach the screen to exit out of the video.
"Don't watch it!" you heard Lionel — the real Lionel — snap, and you were finally able to pull your eyes away from your phone to look up at him. He was flustered, panicking, his phone still in his hand and the call still connected to his PA. He crossed the room and quickly hit the side button on your phone to lock it and stop the video playing.
"Lionel —"
"It's old, from years ago, I swear," he said hurriedly. "I have no idea who leaked it, we're trying to figure it out now. Just don't watch any more of it, okay? And stay off Twitter. Stay off the internet until we figure out what to do."
Before you could say anything, the phone was back on Lionel's ear, and he was barking instructions at his PA as he left the room again, leaving you alone in nothing but a robe, phone in hand but unusable apparently, since Lionel had just ordered you off the internet.
Wait, who was he to tell you to stay off the internet? He didn't own you or the internet, as much as he liked to pretend he did. He couldn't tell you what to do. If you wanted to go on the internet, you damn well would — though you had no desire to watch any more of the video.
Even if you didn't watch the video, there were enough screenshots of it being posted as you scrolled through Twitter again. It was mostly men posting pictures of Kylie Minogue's mid-orgasm face with perverted comments as captions, but there were definitely people thirsting over Lionel too.
When we eat the rich, can we spare Lionel Shabandar just long enough for me to have some alone time with him?
I always judged [Y/n] [L/n] for dating an asshole billionaire, but you know what? I get it now.
I wonder if Shabandar made a sex tape with all his girlfriends. There must be a whole Blockbuster's worth of tapes in that mansion of his.
It wasn't just Twitter that was talking. You logged into Facebook, and you were glad you had notifications silenced, otherwise your phone would have been dinging constantly with all the messages you were getting from friends.
Hey, you okay? Seen the news.
OMG YOU NEVER TOLD ME IT WAS THAT BIG?!
Hi. It's terrible what Lionel's done to you by releasing this video with his ex. If you want to get back at him, you know where I am ;)
Dear [Y/n] [L/n], I'm a reporter with the Daily Mail and I'm writing a story about the atrocious behaviour from Kylie Minogue in releasing this video. Would you be prepared to spare five minutes to share your side of the story?
Theories were being tossed around everywhere. Lionel leaked it. Kylie leaked it. You leaked it. An anti-capitalist hacktivist leaked it. A disgruntled Shabandar Media employee leaked it.
People were complaining that Lionel hadn't said anything about it yet. Little did they know, he had said a lot about it — on the phone to his assistant. You could hear him now, his voice muffled so you couldn't make out what he was saying, but you could tell he was using his angry boss voice. Usually that voice turned you on, but you could hear genuine panic in his voice too, and that just made you worried.
At least you could be sure it wasn't him that had leaked it — but that did beg the question of how someone else got a hold of it. Did that mean there was a digital copy? If this video had a digital copy, did yours too?
The person on Twitter had raised a good point. Had Lionel made a sex tape with all his girlfriends? Did he have a collection stashed away somewhere? Were you nothing but the latest addition to his personal porn collection?
It couldn't have been Kylie that leaked it, surely. Lionel might find a way to make it out of this scandal, but it could be a death sentence for a woman's career.
Maybe it wasn't even about Lionel, maybe it was someone who hated Kylie. But as you read through the different news articles for clues, you saw a few mention that it had been sent to them by an anonymous tipster labelled as "Lionel Shabandar sex tape", no mention of Kylie at all.
When Lionel finally came back into the room, he didn't mention that you were back on the internet. He just sat himself on the sofa and buried his head in his hands.
You hesitated, waiting to see if he was going to do or say anything, but he just sat there, so you sat next to him and placed your hand on his thigh comfortingly.
"You okay, Li?"
"No, I'm bloody well not," he grumbled. His hands fell away from his face and he sat back against the sofa cushions, staring up at the ceiling as the answers lay in the crystal chandelier above him. "This was… unexpected."
You knew Lionel well enough to know that he didn't like unexpected. Pleasant surprises, yes — he loved to come home from work and find you waiting for him when he thought you were in another city. But unexpected problems? He hated nothing more. Lionel was a planner, a strategist — a control freak, some might say. He had back-up plans in case of surprises, for sure — he even had a bunker in the grounds of his mansion in case of apocalypse. But this, he had no plan for, because it was never something he thought might happen.
"Do you have any idea who leaked it?"
Lionel shook his head, still looking for answers in the chandelier.
"Well, I've been reading the news articles, and I think I found some clues."
Lionel abandoned his search for answers in the chandelier, and turned his attention to you instead, listening attentively.
"Every single news outlet that received the tape directly, as far as I can tell, is one of Takagawa's."
"Bastard!" Lionel cursed, sitting up straight. "I should have known he was involved."
"And the other thing is, they say they received it in an envelope marked 'Lionel Shabandar sex tape.' Which means that whoever leaked it, their target is you, not Kylie."
Lionel nodded, thinking. "Mmm. I don't think it was her, it'll ruin her career. So it was someone that wanted to target me… and knew Takagawa would want the heads up."
His eyes widened, realisation dawning.
"Of course. It must have been — but he's not that smart. Is he?"
"…Who?"
Lionel stood up suddenly and grabbed the shirt you'd thrown on the floor earlier in a fit of passion, ranting to himself more than you about how he was going to destroy "him."
"Lionel! Lionel, slow down. Who do you think it was?"
"Who do you think? Someone who knows about my rivalry with Takagawa. Someone I pissed off very recently. It's obvious! Why didn't I think of it before? It was Harry Deane!"
do you have any interest in writing any alan rickman character experimenting with sex toys?
i think that different characters would choose different toys... (imo lionel prefers a vibrator but sinclair might like a cock ring LOL)
as always, i love your writing and am patiently waiting for the next one 🙈
Aww, that's very sweet of you! I'm so happy you enjoy my writing; it really means a lot to me for you to say that! Admittedly, I was rather nervous to try to write headcanons for these characters. For most characters, I don’t really have hard-set headcanons for them (for example, I could probably argue several favorite toys for each of AR’s characters and make myself believe it in the process, too, lol). Anyway, I know this place is a safe space, and I’ve chosen to interpret these as short prompts. I’m also expanding the prompt to include equipment, not just toys. I’m totally open to doing more for other characters or doing different toys with the same characters! My asks are wide open too, lol, so please feel free to send in more requests! This is my first time writing both Lionel and Judge Turpin, so please be kind!
Alan Rickman Characters & Their Favorite Toys
Character(s): Severus Snape (x GN Reader), Lionel Shabandar (x Female Reader), Sinclair Bryant (x GN Reader), David Friedman, and Judge Turpin (x Female Reader)
Word Count: 1.5k
Warning(s)‼️: Sex Toys/Bondage Equipment. Masturbation. Sex. Erectile Dysfunction/Premature Ejaculation. Self-Flagellation.
Severus Snape - Collar
Severus Snape stalked the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, black cloak billowing in the dungeon’s characteristic darkness. Under the restrictive clothing he wore — layers of formal teaching robes doused in protective spells and held tightly closed with row after row of buttons — no one would have guessed the sour professor wore a thick band of leather — a collar. It was a present from his betrothed, a promise of their faithfulness given in addition to a traditional band for the fourth digit of his hand. The collar was a deep green, nearly black, embroidered with gold trim. The title “Prince” written in gold cursive attached to the front of the collar with a gold chain, almost like a necklace. Being owned, pulled between two different men, two different sides for decades might have made a collar onerous, taxing for some men, but for Severus, it was a relief. Warm relief that tasted ambrosial to belong to someone with only his interests at heart rather than their own or the entire world’s. The metal tag magically pulsed, a soft command for his presence. His cock twitched at what might, what he silently prayed, awaited him on your shared bed in your dungeon quarters.
[Author’s Note: I fully realize a more restrained Snape might not wear a BDSM-style collar. And, in that case, a more restrained Snape likely wouldn’t go for sex toys either. I think he would be very attached to his wedding ring—-perhaps his partner took the time to engrave the inside with their initials and the date—-or other items given to him by them.]
Lionel Shabandar - Your Vibrator
Lionel Shabandar did not share. So when he discovered a black heavy piece of plastic, bulbous head attached to a straight shaft with numerous buttons next to a half-empty bottle of lube buried in the covers of your side of the bed, he immediately grew suspicious. In other words, the great Lionel Shabandar, champion seducer and media tycoon, immediately grew jealous of six inches of battery-powered plastic. He knew damn well what it was before he sat on the bed and pushed the power button. A vibrator, not just a single woman’s best friend, but apparently a married woman’s as well. Did he not pleasure you enough? You always came at least once when he fucked you in bed at night…unless…unless that was pretend. A lie. What was so special about the damn toy that every woman desired one? He thought, trousers already unfastened at his ankles, black briefs pulled to his knees. He brought the massive head of the machine against the seam of his ballsack, an involuntary moan slipping from his parted lips. He dragged the toy from the root of his cock to the edge of his frenulum, grip slipping on the black silicone when the vibrations hit the sensitive skin with an intensity he was not at all prepared for. He bucked his hips, thick thumb hitting another button, the pulse of the long toy ratcheting up in its aggression. He passed the black bulbous head to his frenulum once more, a low grunt escaping from his soul as rope after rope of white cum shot from his girthy cock. The vibrator dropped from his hand, the pulses becoming immediately overwhelming post-climax. And that was how you found the proud lion later that afternoon…trousers and pants pulled down, dried cum staining satin sheets, black vibrator long dead between thick spread legs… and snore after snore slipping from a satiated Lionel Shabandar’s mouth. Somehow, the insufferable, prideful man made a mess look regal. Delicious.
Sinclair Bryant - Cock Ring
Sex after Natalie had never been pleasurable, nor simple, at least, not until you came along. Sinclair Bryant was a man often too deep inside his own head, focused five steps past the task at hand. He was forever grateful for you reminding him that sex didn’t have to be anxiety-inducing, didn’t have to be all nerves and trembling limbs. It did not keep his cock from obeying, however. He wasn’t the only man in the country who suffered from premature ejaculation, but the fact was little comfort when he could feel his erection start to soften and his balls begin to tighten while buried in your warmth to the hilt. Cock rings had been a godsend, like manna fallen from the sky. You’d ordered his first from one of the sex shops you frequented, a present gifted for his birthday night. He pulled the black silicone ring over the head of his weak erection, down his velvety flesh to the base of his shaft. Seconds later, he could feel his penis stiffen, feel the blood in his member sanctioned off from the rest of his body. Each thrust into you was that of a broken man made whole, each thrust taking him further from the failures of the past. Minutes later, you had already orgasmed, entire body shuddering, toes curling at the end of the sheets. Sinclair peeled the black silicone off his engorged member, the denied flesh purple, release overtaking him in one thrust into your warm hole. The dirty blond fell against your side, body drained, a smile of pure bliss still spread across his lips as sleep rapidly overtook him. And you couldn’t wait to order a vibrating cock ring for your anniversary.
David Friedman - Handcuffs
The first time it was an accident. The detective was desperately reaching for a bottle of lube in the bedside table drawer, only a small lamp providing a source of illumination amidst the dim room. His hand bumped into a pile of metal, a crackling noise echoing across the darkened room. He’d just locked himself in handcuffs. The handcuffs he normally kept buried deep in his suit jacket pocket. And he had no idea where the key was. David Friedman considered himself a logical man, but when a man’s been semi-hard since lunchtime and his sheets long devoid of another body, logic tended to quickly evaporate. The lube was found moments after his imprisonment, as if the object were quietly mocking him. Cold liquid soon became warm as his locked hands rubbed together, the ritual familiar for a heavily-anticipated Friday night. Jerking off was anything but familiar. His wrist couldn’t freely turn, couldn’t properly grasp his length from root to tip in one fluid motion. The metal cuffs ended up bumping into his bare belly and spread thighs. He couldn’t keep his mind from thinking how wrong this was, how dirty, how naughty. And that was where his enjoyment, his pleasure, came from that evening as he spilled himself onto fraying, stained sheets. He found the keys to his bonds the following morning on top of his bedside table, a plan for that evening already starting to be tossed around in his head. He smiled.
Judge Turpin - Cat O’ Nine Tails
Guilt settled deep within the old judge’s chest. It was not proper, it was not moral to lust after London’s new pretty, new perfect resident. You were all golden curls, narrow hips, and bursting chest—the sort of sight that often left him breathless. Wanting. And his wanting, his desire, often bred wanton thoughts. The kind that did not just leave his chest aching in the dead of night, but also a certain member of his anatomy. His cock, buried beneath the thick fabric of his trousers, throbbed against his leg. Relieving himself would likely be the easiest, the most prudent course of action. He removed the evening jacket spanning the breadth of his shoulders, shrugged out of the thin linen shirt beneath. White-haired chest now bared to the room, he swiped an object off his dark wooden bookshelf. A cat o’ nine tails, the queen of all whips and floggers available, the chosen instrument for his self-flagellation. Each thread, each strand crafted by his own hand. His hand slipped under his trousers, fingers wrapping around the flesh of his aroused penis, liquid already bubbling out the head’s thin slit. His thoughts immediately turned to you as he began his desperate strokes, the white-hot crest of pleasure the destination he hurriedly sought. The crack of the whip echoed about the empty house, his grunt of pain bit back with practiced ease. He thought of what your thighs might look like—milky white flesh he’d love to mark surrounding a slitted center he would very much like to—the whip struck the space between his shoulder blades, liquid beginning to drip down the spine of his back. His erection throbbed against his leg once more, the flesh pulsing, already so close to satisfaction, to bone-shattering pleasure. With a few more pumps of his hand, wetness painted the inside of his trousers, the familiar smell of his release filling the sitting room. He eyed the painting on the wall, stared at the scene of the woman’s flogging, the handle of the whip absentmindedly twirling between his fingers. He flicked his wrist, braided ends tearing a new gash into the scarred flesh of his lower back.
