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draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
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ππ ππππππ πππππππ ππ πππ π ππππ β£ JULY TDM
JULY 2024 TDM: LECTISTERNIUM
Welcome to SALTBURNT, a panfandom smut/thriller game based off the film Saltburn, where characters are encouraged to indulge their deepest desires. The money never runs out and the liquor never stops pouring, so you may as well indulge from the bounty. Of course, things are rarely what they seem, and the manor itself seems to have a consciousness of its own. Throw parties, trash the house, engage in youthful merriment, but remember β dangers come out at night, and no one, no matter how rich you are, is safe from demons lurking in the shadows.
Threads can be considered game canon, provided the players agree. Players can also start fresh upon acceptance into the game. In game characters can post to the TDM directly, so all posters can use the title Β« CHARACTER NAME | CANON | NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEΒ» in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.
WELCOME TO SALTBURNT
It's the hangover more than the light streaming in through half drawn curtains that wakes you up, your brain rattling in your skull, your mouth dry and cottony, your stomach churning with whatever it is you drank last night. If self preservation is your strong suit, you might turn over in bed and see a few painkillers laid out for you on a silver dish, accompanied by a glass of water. If it isnβt, stay in bed and wallow β eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itβs normal for you. Maybe it isnβt.
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itβs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itβs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
WHICH WAY TO THE BACCHANAL?
CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol, nudity, potential for nsfw.
Itβs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities β a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed β a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youβll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods β six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) β as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereβs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
Itβs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities β a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed β a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youβll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods β six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) β as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereβs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
VENI, VIDI, VICI.
CONTENT WARNINGS: violence, body horror, gore, animal attacks (specifically wolf), potential body transformations.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day β a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public β a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast β abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration β less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day β a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public β a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast β abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration β less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
DIRECTORY
no subject
It is a good kiss though, not that she would know the meaning. It just makes her feel heady and wanting, pushing herself for more like sheβs chasing for something sheβs not quite sure of. It feels good though, and she finds herself enjoying getting to taste him, her tongue exploring his with soft little noises. She truly does like it.
Until heβs moving to her neck, and without thought, sheβs undoing the lacing on the bodice of the petticoat to loosen the straps. The material is baggier now, not keeping her figure as it did. But if he wished to explore more of her pale skin with his mouth, she offers it so freely, tilting her head with her swollen lips parted.]
no subject
Her reactions are soft, tempered by the nature of her upbringing, he thinks, but clearly she wants this, and that's enough for him. She bares herself all the more for him, and Erik lets his mouth leave no mark on the marble of her skin, to offer the prickle of sensation instead.
The hand on the back of her body shifts, fingers gripping her waist instead, and he leans back to look her in the eye. ]
Do you want more? Or just this?
no subject
I do like this, but I think I would like more.
[Even if she doesn't know what that might be. She may even be interested in him telling her, to learn more, but she's eager to explore, whatever that may be. The fact he offers so willingly is just as exhilarating. Of course the stipulation of being on the other side of this is less, but she's still glad for his guidance, the way he's still protecting her from the rest of the party.]
I only have the knowledge of what I have seen today, I am afraid. I do not think I have the words to ask for specifics. But I know that I wish for more. With you.
no subject
[ Erik presses another kiss to her neck, her collarbone, letting his mouth rest there. She's warm, flushed and flustered, and her words show just how naive she is to these things - some other person could've completely ruined her, couldn't they? Left her unsure, not explaining anything at all, not giving her the kind of pleasure a woman ought to have...
At least Erik will not be like that.
Fingers curling into the fabric of her outfit, he kisses her jaw again, almost nuzzling there. It might be romantic, if it wasn't for the fact that sexual pleasure was on the forefront of his mind. If he knew just how her Ton would regard her after this, he might be a little more reticent, but even then... ]
You can let me pleasure you, and if you dislike it we can stop.
no subject
This seems anything but that. He makes her feel things already that have her almost gasping and holding herself against him, all soft curves against his firmness.]
I am agreeable to that. [She dips her head.] If you would tell me what you are doing, so I might know.
[To perhaps even ask for it in the future. From him.]
no subject
At least he has an idea of what to do - and if she wants to be educated, he can do that as well. ]
I'll tell you everything I'll do to you. You need to learn, don't you?
[ Leaning up, he kisses her again, soft and slow. ]
Have you ever touched yourself? Intimately?
no subject
His kiss makes her chase his lips though, hand moving to his side as she nods. She most definitely wishes to learn, and she would learn whatever he teaches her.]
Touched myself? [Like the way the ladies in the pool were, she imagines. Or when the men stroked themselves. No, she has certainly done nothing like that. Honestly all of this has been such an awakening for her. She really has had no interest in being with men save for what must be done for having a child someday.]
I have not. Would you show me how? [Or really if he wished to touch her in that way, that would work as well. There is already a heat between her legs growing.]
no subject
Since you asked so nicely.
[ Slowly, Erik turns his head to glance around the room. With all the other events taking place, no one is paying a lick of attention to them, which is how he'd prefer it. He doesn't mind a public spectacle, but for her sake, a little decency might be in order.
Erik takes her body in hand and slowly urges her to turn around, so that she can lean with her back against his chest, his arms encircling her. Then, one of his hand reaches to cup under her breast gently, chin on her shoulder. ]
If it feels uncomfortable, tell me. This is for your benefit.
no subject
Her cheeks are already rosy when he says that, and he is right. They are hardly noticed even if there is a thrill for being in a room with such goings on. It makes her a little more excited before he's turning her around, one hand on the wall to steady her as he positions himself behind her. It is something else entirely to feel him there before his hand is rising up to touch her curves, a good handful for him.]
I think I like the way you touch me already, Erik. [She should hardly tell him to stop now, but she would if it was uncomfortable and not completely turning her on.]
no subject
Explorative. Careful. Erik wants to see what she likes, what she enjoys, that makes her gasp or moan for him. He's enjoying himself too, there's that, but for now he wants to see the soft flush of her own pleasure. ]
Let's hope that continues, hm?
[ His palm squeezes around her, deliberate, as his teeth bite gently at her skin. ]
no subject
He squeezes her, and her hips roll, not meaning to press back against him, but it feels good, so good. Her head lolls back against him with another soft noise, and she can get lost in the way his hands make her feel already. The way he even bites her, makes her squirm, breathless when she feels it.]
Erik-- [It startles her, but not in a bad way, something that urges her, makes her call his name from it. She can finally feel that dampness forming between her legs now, swallowing hard. She doesn't know what it means, but she has to shift her weight to keep the skirts from sticking to her from it.]
no subject
His own groan, her hips rocking back against his body, is a breathless sound against her ear, and his eyes close briefly. It's making it difficult to focus on her at first, but he's a master of his own self, without hesitation, and he nods his head. She's enjoying herself, and it's a marvel to witness. ]
Good. [ Soft praise, and one hand lifts, to curl around the strap of her outfit, to let one side of it slide along her arm. It means that he can slip his fingers in, skin on skin, and flick over her nipple with no barrier now. ] Open your legs a little wider.
no subject
His command comes with a sharpening of her spine, like following his orders comes far more easy than she expects. She's damp between her legs, and there's a sudden need for him to know what he's done to her so far. It all seems so simple and blindingly perfect at the same time, so her thighs part for him, and there's some sort of feeling that comes with his hand dipped into the bodice and her legs spread for him, pushing her hips out again. Her breathing comes out labored, but so wanting.]
Like this?
[Is she doing a good job?]
no subject
His free hand trails down to lift the fabric around her hips, dragging it up so his large palm can rest just there against her stomach. Heβs slow and careful with his movements as his fingers chase the feeling of her skin, his mouth still pressed to give little kisses on her neck.
Erik wants to see her feel good. He wants to hear her breathless and moaning for him, whispering his name and asking for more and more. ]
When youβre with a man, he should be spending time between your legs to pleasure you. Please you. Either inside or outside - it can be fun both ways.
[ His voice is low, quiet. Carefully measured. ]
Can you feel how wet you are? That means youβre aroused. Your body wants me to touch you.
no subject
βWhen youβre with a manβ. Those words even cause a stir, his husky voice just behind her ear. And she is, isnβt she? Heβs not stumbling like someone her age might, but like he knows his way. The things he must have doneβ¦
But then heβs speaking to her about what being touched is like, what pleasure might look like for her, and sheβs staring down at the way his hand is so close to that source of heat.]
Yesβ- [She has felt how wet sheβs been getting for sometime, even just watching the people before they caught her and told her she must serve now. Thereβs been a stirring, a wanting for awhile. Heβs only caught it afire.]
I do. [Sheβs breathless, in need of him now.] I wish for you to touch me. There.
no subject
Either way, heβs having fun at the moment, crowding her into a quiet corner and letting himself touch a warm, willing body, letting his mind settle into the familiar. Itβs easier than the turbulence of his usual storm, the way his mind is a nightmare of thought and memory; itβs easier, having something to focus on, someone to focus on.
Careful fingers move lower and lower, sliding between her legs, two pressed together to spread her folds and stroke deliberately against her. Itβs a slow thing, almost careful, as if he doesnβt want to startle her with the jolt of pleasure sheβll feel as he explores, finally letting the pads of his fingers rub against her clit, teeth scraping on her collarbone.
A flash of teeth, sharkish and dangerous, as he hums. ]
Move your hips, against my fingers. Find out what you like.
no subject
Even when she does already wish to beg at how very slow he moves, fingers moving lower and over her mound. She inhales, lips parting. Two fingers part her, sliding down her lips. Francesca can feel just how slick she is now. βArousedβ, that is what he called it. And she truly is, but it is nothing to the near blinding pleasure that thrums through her when he rubs over her clit.
She whimpers, one hand clutching at his arm. It isnβt to stop him, but of shock before he tells her to move her hips, and she grinds back to repeat that sensation. Eyes close as her body presses against him as she moves, thinking of it all at once. The way he feels, the way he envelops her, touches her, commands her, and the low sound of his voice that makes yet another noise slip from her pretty, pink lips.
And she is sure now. This is pleasure. It is the most perfect feeling. She does not need love, she thinks, if she has this.]
no subject
Heβs not normally quite so selfless, but her newness to all of it inspires a touch of kindness in him, the kind that others hadnβt ever dared show him.
As Francesca rocks back against his fingers he lets them move, deliberate, stroking her and starting to see what she likes best; a careful, more deliberate touch, or closer to brute force, pushing for her to demand more of him? His eyes are glued to her face as he watches her, his expression darkened from his own want. Itβs likely now that she can feel the hard line of his cock against her, but he doesnβt shove or grind. Heβs patient.
Instead, he leans over to bring their faces together, a little awkwardly, so he can kiss her again. ]
Good girl.
no subject
He lifts her face, and she's so flushed by now. Her kiss delayed, whimpering from his fingers rubbing right at her core. It is hard to think of anything in that moment, but she wants that kiss, wants to feel his mouth on her. She might press back on him a little more on purpose now.
Being called a good girl has her blue eyes flicking up to meet his, lips parted. Something about him calling her that has her finally moaning, toes curling, and feeling that intense pressure between her legs increasing. It feels like a build now, slow and steady, but making her ache somehow even more, like she cannot stop grinding back against him and his fingers.]
Erik, I-- [Once again she doesn't have the words. She meets his eyes, all rounded with need.] More, please.
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The kiss is slow, steady, devouring her mouth even as he pulls at her pleasure, even as he's deliberately trying to get her to fall apart for him. He wonders if it'll be faster, or take longer, because of her inexperience, because of how new she is to the world of sexual desire - but either way, he can wait it out. It if comes quick, he'll simply have to give her more, until she is sated and content.
As she moans, Erik kisses her again, deep and slow, keeping the steady motion of his fingers between her legs, letting her rock and grind in tandem with it. He wants to hear her come, wants to see it, her cheeks flushed and her expression bright with it - he wants to be the one to have done it. ]
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Her pleasure is mounting, and she does not know if it will come swiftly, but she aches for it, almost desperate as she hums into his mouth. Her response is to rock into him, to want to know what it feels life to press her body into him. The pinch of her nipples likewise gets a similar reaction, one of surprise, but happy for the change in sensation.]
Oh, [She moans. Surely this is what heaven must be like.]
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Humans can be such selfish things. He's aware of it, has been at their mercy, a victim of their darker sides, and his frustration has propelled him into a belief in his own superiority.
Erik maintains it, until he wonders, and decides to test the waters. His hand sneaks a little lower between her legs, to slide between her properly, one finger pressing at her opening as the heel of his palm keeps a steady press against her clit. He wants her consent, of course, but he's not sure how much she's aware of what this is, so - ]
It can feel good to have something inside you, as well. That's where my cock would go, if I fucked you now. [ His fingers tease, just a little. ] Would you like to feel it?
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One is at her entrance, testing and teasing at her when even she is aware he could push up inside of her so easily. Even without feeling it, that is the feeling her body has craved, her release so close now.
He tells her what he could do, filthy words falling from his mouth, the same one that kissed her so sweetly. She doesnβt know them by definition, but she could put it together. His cock is what presses against her, letting her know he does feel what she does. Fucking is the sounds of the people that seem so far off now. Her mouth goes dry, but she nods her head.]
Fill me. Please. [With his fingers, she knows. On instinct her legs spread again, wanting to imagine he is taking her already even if it might be jumping several steps.]
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He might not even be here for much longer. He doesn't intend to stay, which could explain his recklessness, touching and indulging as he does. Nothing matters much more than destroying the gate again and attempting his escape, but if this is some kind of strange, twisted dream... Indulging is just that.
Slowly, with her consent, he pushes his finger into her and begins to move it slowly, a rock of his hand against her even as he goes. It's a faux fuck, what he might do if he had his cock in her, if he was giving her what he thinks she might be imagining now, but he's not going to go too fast. She'll be tight, it might be sore, and he knows better.
Pain has its place, but not right now. ]
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It is almost too much, a virgin like her who is already overwhelmed, but he gives her what she's asked, and she does feel herself adjusting, body stretching where it needs to, though one finger is not enough to break that threshold of her hymen, still intact. Her hand comes to hold at his arm, her mouth gently kisses where she can reach him just below his lips. It's a softness she knows she's asking for, doesn't deserve, but somehow she thinks he'll give it to her now anyway while he starts to fingerfuck her with his cock at her backside. Her squirming against him is a little more pointed now that she's thinking of it.]
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