authors note . might be my last link post for a bit, as this took up WAYY too much of my time and I gotta work on my other stuff... I hope the people enjoy this, and if u use my flipping header or banner ur getting a hot pepper shoved up ur ahh without lube. anyways, creds to user id:93213403 on pixiv!!
You're on your back, completely bare, heavy chains looped around your torso and between your thighs. He slid the vibrator inside you before he chained you down, and it's been buzzing at a low, cruel setting for long enough that your cunt is swollen and pulsing around it on its own. When he presses the wand directly onto your clit, your entire body seizes against the chains, and the metal digs into your ribs as you arch up with nowhere to go.
"Ah, there it is."
He doesn't move the wand at all, watching your stomach muscles contract, and he reaches down with his free hand to trace the red marks the links leave on your skin. "These are going to bruise," he says, pressing his thumb into one. "Good."
✮ crawling to him because he told you to
He's standing at the far end of the room, his cock in his hand, stroking lazily, and you're on your hands and knees on the floor, tongue out, crawling toward him. Every time you get close enough to take him in your mouth, he steps back, just one step, watching you follow. You bob your head forward, lips closing around his tip, before he pulls his hips back, and the wet pop of him leaving your mouth makes you whine. He takes another step, and you crawl forward. "Faster," he says, taking another step back, watching your knees drag across the floor. "You worship so slowly. If you wanted it that badly, you'd move like it." You crawl faster, your mouth finding him again, and this time he lets you stay for three seconds before pulling away. "Better, but I think you should beg for it with your words this time."
✮ bone gag
You're on the floor with a bone gag strapped between your teeth, drool running down your chin. Your arms are tied across your chest with rope, your skirt is bunched up around your waist, and you have no underwear on. Your legs are in the air, held open by the rope, and your eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, your head tipping back every time the dildo slides in. He's sitting between your legs on the floor, one hand working the toy in and out of you in slow, smooth strokes, his thumb on your clit, circling in the same lazy rhythm. He's savoring the wet sounds, the way your cunt grips the toy on every pull, the way your eyes try to focus on him and can't.
"Look at you." He pushes the dildo deeper, holds it there, and his thumb speeds up on your clit until your thighs tremble. "Gagged, tied up, dripping all over my floor, and you still think you deserve my cock?" He pulls the toy out slowly, watching the way your hole clenches around nothing when it's gone. "Pathetic little thing. You haven't earned anything yet."
✮ your mouth is on his cock, his hands are in your hair
He's lying back in the crimson robe he wears around his quarters, the fabric spread open, his cock resting on his stomach. You're between his legs on all fours, your tongue dragging up his shaft from base to tip in a long, flat lick, and your hands are at his sides, sliding up underneath the robe, your palms pressing into his ribs as you take him into your mouth. His hand finds your hair, fingers threading through, gripping, and his hips grind up into your mouth before you're even halfway down. He rolls his hips, feeding himself across your tongue in shallow, constant thrusts that keep him stimulated without going deep, using your mouth the way someone uses a hand.
At some point, your bobbing stops, and he takes over completely, both hands pushing your head down while his hips pump up, bouncing into your mouth. When he finally releases the pressure, spit strings from your lips to his cock in long, glossy threads, and you catch your breath while your tongue finds his shaft again out of habit.
He groans when your tongue drags up the underside, and his hips chase the contact, grinding against the flat of your tongue while your hands slide higher up his body inside the robe. "Don't you dare stop. That mouth is the only useful thing about you today."
✮ you can't escape
You're tied to a chair in the center of the room, your wrists bound above your head by a rope that's attached to the ceiling. Your ankles are strapped to the chair legs, and through a hole cut in the seat beneath you, a wand vibrator is pressed directly against your cunt at a setting that's been making your thighs shake for the last ten minutes straight.
Every time you try to squirm, your body grinds harder against the wand, and the extra pressure sends a jolt through your clit that makes your cunt clench and whimper involuntarily, which humiliates you more because your body is betraying you, and he's there, watching every second of it. He's across the room, seated, one leg crossed over the other, his chin resting on his hand, and he hasn't touched you once.
"You're fighting it again," he observes. "Every time you squirm, you push yourself harder onto it. You know that, right? You're getting yourself off trying to escape, and it's the funniest thing I've seen all week." Your hips jerk, and the wand catches your clit at an angle that makes your back arch off the chair. A broken moan slips out, and you hate the way his mouth curves when he hears it.
"There it is," he says. "That's the sound I was waiting for. Go ahead, fight harder. Your body will do the rest."
✮ you told him you hated your chest... he's going to fix that
You were getting dressed, and you turned sideways in the mirror, and the words about your insecurity came out before you could stop them. He didn't respond to you right away; he just finished whatever it was that he was doing and then told you to sit on the bed.
He tied your arms behind your back, and he tied a pink cord around your chest in a pattern that frames your breasts, making them sit higher, more prominent, impossible to hide. The rope is almost decorative, a harness that turns your insecurity into something displayed. He coats his hands in oil, and when his slicked fingers find your nipples, you flinch because you weren't ready for how sensitive they are when your breasts are bound and swollen from the rope pressure.
"Don't move," he says. His thumbs roll over your nipples in slow circles, spreading the oil until your skin is gleaming. Your breath is coming out faster, and your back keeps trying to arch away from his hands, but you can't because your arms are tied. You can't cover yourself, can't hide, can't do anything except sit there and feel him tease your nipples until they're hard and aching.
"You said you hated these." His slicked thumb flicks across your nipple, watching it stiffen. "So now you're going to sit here while I show you exactly how wrong you are. And when I'm done, you're going to look at yourself and tell me they're pretty." His other hand pinches, rolling your nipple between oiled fingers, and you let out a helpless whimper. "And you're going to mean it. Because I don't accept half-hearted compliments."
WANDERER
✮ using your foot to get him off while he pretends he's above it
He's on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, and your foot is pressed flat against his cock through his pants. His hand is on your ankle, guiding you, grinding himself against the arch of your sole in slow rolls that push his hips off the mattress. He won't ask for more because asking is beneath him, so he just moves your foot where he wants it and acts like this is something he's tolerating rather than something that's making his breathing uneven. His bottoms come off eventually, and the outline of him straining through his boxers is extremely noticeable that you can't resist pressing your toes against it just to watch him twitch. When both your feet are on him, one pressing his balls, the other rolling slow circles on his leaking tip through the fabric, his head drops back. "You're enjoying this more than I am," he says through his teeth, and it's the most obvious lie his tsundere ahh has ever said.
✮ he's eating you out, and you're not even paying attention
You're on your bed, legs spread, playing whatever Fontaine handheld device you convinced a merchant to import. He settles between your legs, pushes your thighs apart, and puts his mouth on you. His tongue drags slowly up your slit while you tap buttons and frown at the screen. You giggle when his tongue flicks your clit because it tickles more than it should, and your free hand drops to his hair, fingers threading through the strands absently, like you're petting him while you play. He hums against your cunt, and the vibration makes your hips twitch, but you don't look down.
He pulls back just enough to talk against your folds. "You're dripping on my chin, and you won't even look at me." You glance down, smile, and go back to your game. He bites the inside of your thigh for that, and your yelp makes him grin before his mouth finds your clit again. He's going to make you put that thing down eventually, and he's patient enough to take his time getting there.
✮ he wants you in bed and won't say it with words
He's lying on his bed in his sleep robe, the fabric open, cock out, half-hard and hanging between his thighs. You're sitting at his desk, reviewing scrollwork for a thesis you don't care about, and you can feel him staring at the back of your head.
You glance over your shoulder. He slightly shifts his hips in a way that makes his cock sway between his legs. He's just letting it hang there, while he looks at you with an expression that says "come here" without opening his mouth.
"Use your words," you say, turning back to your scrollwork.
"I don't need words," he says. "You already looked."
You cave in too quickly, already pushing the chair back before he finishes the sentence. He doesn't smile when you crawl onto the bed, but his cock twitches against his stomach, and that says more than a smile ever could.
✮ leaking for you while you kneel there, looking at it
He's sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread, his cock hard and dripping between his thighs. A bead of precum slides from the slit down the underside of his shaft. He touches his tip with two fingers, spreads them apart, and a string of precum stretches between them. You're on the floor in front of him, on your knees, watching.
He slides his fingers down his length, dragging the slick with them, coating himself in it, and his cock twitches hard enough that the next bead of precum drips off his tip and lands on his thigh.
"Are you going to keep staring," he says, his voice low, his eyes on yours, "or are you going to do something about it? Because I've been hard since you walked in, and watching you on your knees isn't making it go down."
You lean forward, and he watches you close the distance with that quiet, focused look, his clean hand bracing on the mattress behind him, his hips shifting forward to meet your mouth.
✮ spending quality time with the gift he bought you
He bought you the stuffed bear during a festival week in Sumeru. It's huge, and it's sitting on your bed, taking up a quarter of the mattress. You thanked him with a kiss, and he told you it was "just something practical, your bed looked empty," which is the most Wanderer way to say he saw something that reminded him of you and couldn't walk past it. He didn't expect to come back to your room and find you straddling its leg.
Your hips were rolling against the plush limb in slow grinds, the plush fabric pressing between your folds, and you didn't hear him come in because you were too focused on the heat building in your stomach. He stood in the doorway for a full five seconds before you noticed him, and when you did, your hips stopped completely, and your face went red.
"Don't stop on my account," he says as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I want to see you finish."
And when you don't move a muscle, he adds, "that wasn't a suggestion."
Your hips start moving again, slower, embarrassed, and the wet spot you're leaving on the plush is visible from where he's standing. He watches you grind, watches your thighs tighten around the leg, watches your head tip back as the rhythm picks up.
"You like it that much?" he asks, his voice softer now, like he enjoys watching this display. "Should I be jealous? Because I'm starting to think the bear's doing a better job than me, and that's not something I'm willing to accept." He pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed. "Move over. Let me show you what you're actually supposed to be riding."
LOHEN
✮ you can't handle it
You're in his basement with your ass in the air, ankles and wrists bound in rope that loops up through a hook that keeps you spread open with zero ability to close your legs. The vibrator on your clit is pressed so directly against the nerve that your entire lower body is clenching in visible pulses. He's holding a plug above your ass that's bigger than the one from yesterday.
Your cunt flutters around nothing, your asshole clenches with it, and he's watching all of it like it's a show. "Look at you," he says, tilting his head to get a better angle. "Both holes are already open before I've even touched you. You trained so well for me, didn't you?" He taps the vibrator with one finger, nudging it harder against your clit, and you clench again, hard. "That little hole just winked at me again."
He presses the cool tip of the plug against your ass, circling the rim without pushing in, and your trained hole opens for it reflexively, the muscle relaxing around the glass like it's been waiting. "See? Your mouth says no, but this," he pushes the plug in one inch, and your body swallows it greedily, "this says you've been thinking about it all day."
A whine that sounds more like crying than pleasure tears out of your throat, and he grinds the vibrator into your clit until the whine breaks into a moan you couldn't hold back if your life depended on it.
"Aw," he says, twisting the plug slowly, watching your hole stretch and grip around it. "Is that supposed to make me stop? Because that sound you just made is actually making me want to see how loud you get when I turn it up." He turns it up, and you scream into the mattress, your hole clenching hard around the plug. The unoptional moans keep spilling out of you one after another.
"You can keep saying no," he says, pressing the plug deeper, watching your body betray every word your mouth tries to form. "Your holes don't listen to you anyway. They listen to me."
✮ restrained in a split with a rod holding your arms in place
The bar holds your wrists apart behind your back, your ankles are forced into a split by the restraints, and when he slides into you, the only thing you can do is take it. He grips the rod behind your back for leverage, and the first thrust makes your whole body rock forward because there's nothing to brace against, nothing except the restraints keeping you exactly where he put you. Your ass claps against his skin on every thrust, and the sound fills the room louder than either of your voices. He pulls the rod back, arching your spine, forcing your chest forward while he fucks deeper. "You're making such pretty sounds for someone who begged me to go easy," he murmurs into the back of your neck. "I lied when I said I would, by the way."
✮ belt on your cunt, then around your neck
You're on the bed with your legs open and his belt folded in half, and the first slap lands directly on your cunt with a crack that makes your whole body flinch off the mattress. He watches your reaction with interest, the way your thighs try to close and can't because his knee is between them, the way your cunt flushes pink from the impact. He slaps again, harder, and the yelp you let out is half pain, half… something else. "You liked that one." He loops the belt around your throat, threading the leather through the buckle and pulling until it sits snug against your pulse. His free hand pushes your thigh back, and he slides inside you, pulling the belt tighter. The first thrust makes your eyes roll back because being full and getting choked at the same time is too many sensations for your body to handle. You feel him pull the belt tighter. "Breathe when I let you."
✮ the staples…
You've been crying ever since he finished putting them in, your face wet against the pillow he shoved under your head when your body started shaking too hard to hold still. There's a heart made of staples in the skin of your inner thigh, each one pressed in individually with a sterile tool, and the dried blood around them has crusted into thin, dark lines that trace its shape. The bruising beneath is already purple, blooming outward from each puncture, and the skin between the staples is swollen and hot to the touch.
He runs his finger along the edge of the heart, tracing the outline, and your leg tries to flinch away from the contact, but his other hand is locked around your ankle, pinning your leg open.
"Stop squirming." He says it like you're being difficult on purpose. "You sat still when I put them in. You can sit still now."
Your body isn't listening to what you want anymore; it's listening to the pain, and when his palm comes down flat across the heart, the slap connecting with every raised staple at once, your cunt clenches hard, and you let out a loud yelp. Fresh blood beads up around two of the staples where the skin splits under the impact, and it runs down the curve of your inner thigh in a thin, warm line that he watches with his head tilted.
"There's the red I wanted." He smears the blood with his thumb, spreading it across the heart, painting the skin around it pink. "You bleed so pretty for me. Almost as pretty as you cry."
Your tears are soaking into the pillow, snot and spit mixing on your face, and your chest is heaving in hiccups that shake the whole bed. He doesn't comfort you; instead, he slides his hand up your thigh, fingers trailing through the blood, and slaps the heart again, harder, his fingers catching the edge of a staple and ripping it halfway out of your skin.
The scream that comes out of you is guttural, ripped from somewhere deeper than your throat, and your hands claw at whatever's near you, the sheets, his arm, anything. He grabs your wrist and pins it to the mattress without looking away from your thigh.
"Shh," he says, and the gentleness of the sound is almost shocking. He pushes the staple back in with his thumb, pressing until the metal sinks into your swollen skin, and you feel every millimeter of it reentering the puncture.
You watch as he makes a fist, and you shake your head against the pillow, crying harder, "please, please, please, I can't-" but the last word gets cut in half when his fist connects with the center of the heart.
Your leg jerks so violently that your knee almost catches his jaw, and he grabs your ankle and slams it back down against the mattress. New blood is pooling in the center of the heart, filling the gaps between staples, and two more have shifted in your skin from the impact.
"You let me put these in you," he says quietly, his bloody thumb pressing into the deepest staple, the one at the bottom point of the heart, and he rotates it. Your scream breaks into a sob, and he leans down and presses his mouth to the heart. His lips are soft against the swollen, bloody skin, and his tongue drags across one of the staples, tasting the copper, tasting… you. He pulls back, blood on his lower lip, and wipes it with the back of his hand.
"Same time next week," he says. "I want to do the other thigh."
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