#paraphiliapet

[burnhole]

@paraphiliapet

“Agh! This is u-u-u-unbelievable!” He announces, stopping abruptly in the midst of his third frustration-fueled lap from the driver’s side of his car to the fenced in plot of rubble where his beloved fast food restaurant once stood and throwing his arms into the air in disbelief. “How could they do this? How could they tear down McDonald’s? It was a p-pillar of the community! Where am I gonna get nuggets now?”

[destroyerofwxrlds]

Closed Starter for Benny; @paraphilliapet

@paraphiliapet

         Beady eyes focused on his victim; focused anywhere other than the interior design of the room, really. The outdated 70’s aesthetic really wasn’t even cool in the 80’s, letalone the present day, and the shag carpet, likely unwashed since it was first put in, was a breeding ground for bacteria. 

      Blankets and pillows had been pulled off the bed and neatly stacked in a pile, replaced with a large sheet of plastic. The canopy remained on the bed; it would get blood splattered, but it could be burnt. It would keep the blood off of everything outside the bed, which would ultimately make things easier when it was time to clean up.

      He’d been so easy to catch. All it had taken was a few texts pretending to be Cole, apologizing, begging to meet up. He’d camped out behind Benny’s house while the meeting was meant to take place. When he’d arrived home, furious about Cole standing him up, he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been looking over his shoulder, hadn’t been careful enough. 

      Once the front door was unlocked, it was easy for Smoothie to take control with a chloroform rag. 

      He shifted on Benny’s lap, still straddling him like a sleep paralysis demon, adjusting his latex gloves just slightly to make sure his sleeves were protected. He wasn’t too concerned about Benny’s potentially violent reaction upon waking; his victim was restrained to the bed with wrist and ankle cuffs. It was just a matter of waiting until he did finally wake. Which, judging by the way he was beginning to stir, would be at any moment.

[archerwhiterp]

✌️

Naughty Little Meme

@evora-eriu-mclaggen asked too

✌ : Is your muse good with their hands?

Archer has long slender fingers and spends a lot of time writing, typing, and drawing. He is surprisingly desterious with his fingers and even more so when it comes to cunts. He’s had lots of practice there.

[opxngravxs-archive]

 @paraphiliapet  liked for a short starter -– Basil Ashworth

“You look like you need a drink -- what’s yer poison?”

[ssunspotted]

✏️-if it's not too late!

.do i  know you?

[awanderingselkie]

@paraphiliapet

[[MORE]]

Oliver grinned wickedly down at the man at his feet. He always loved to see Cole like this - desperate, whining, needy. The fact he had his cock all the way down that pretty throat certainly didn't hurt things either. He ran his fingers almost tenderly through his hair, humming softly.

"That's a good little cocksucker," he purred sweetly, rocking his hips in time with his bobbing. "You were made for this, weren't you, little slut? You like that? Hmm?"

Without warning his grip in his hair tightened, and he yanked his head back and his mouth off his cock. He slapped the side of his face with it, his other hand still holding his head back. "I asked you a question, pup - do you like being a good little cocksucker for me? Like being my little whore?"

[sonnyshineofficial]

@paraphiliapet

      The party was a stupid idea. He had a 9 AM meeting with Oprah the next day anyway, not to mention the fact that Cardi and Kanye were both touring, taking themselves and their respective entourages off the guest list.

      He should have just rescheduled the whole thing. The small to begin with crowd was already dwindling, antsy despite the ever present sex and drugs. And so, he did what he always did when things got dull; he sent an intern out with a stack of cash and a bag of drugs to find his guests some entertainment.

      It wasn't long before five of them were marched in, dressed in skimpy leather, and not long after that when one stood out loud and clear as the real talent of the group. He kept an eye on him all night long and, nearing sunrise when everyone else began to leave, he made his move.

      He grabbed Cole’s arm, attempting to pull him towards a private room. “I want to talk to you. Consider it a job offer.”

[cartusprincipatus-blog]

@paraphiliapet​ liked for a starter

The book shop was closed with no need or want to put up a “Will Be Back At...” or hours of operation sign. He preferred to keep the hours odd, opening and closing at his own whims. The shop was really just a means to keep his collection of books with the added benefit of a neat front as to not draw attention. When it was open, it also served as a convenient way to people watch, but that could just as easily be done from the window with the doors locked.

This was London, a city no stranger to strangers and other millers and drifters about, though one in particular had caught his attention, perhaps because of how close he was keeping to the shop.

Thunder had been rumbling in the distance for some minutes now and Aziraphale went back to tiding the stacks. Lighting sparked as he straightened a copy of Moby Dick. The rain was coming down now and in torrents. He peaked through the window again. The man was still there, much much closer this time -- huddled for safety in the overhand of the doorway -- a dismal looking thing. The angle tilted his head and slightly huffed with a pursed frown that also pulled at his eyebrows. The front door way unlocked.

“No need to get swept up with the rain. Come in, come in.” He gestured fervently.