Yes, ( she sighs, the humid wind of her exhale caressing his cheek. easy acceptance to give — paul needs a fixture that won't leave, won't be swayed from him; alina grows roots for him, planting slim fingers into the conception bed of dirt beneath them, fertile as the swollen pink between her thighs. fitting for it to be here, where he can repay the favor — seed life into her until she's flowering with it, the vibrant garden-bed of children he'd promised her. ) I made you. I gave you life. My beautiful boy.
( his mother, his maker, his savior, his patron saint — parent to all orphaned, abandoned things. jessica could never be such a loving hand to hold. what is paul, anyway, if not one of her own? what is paul, if not conceived by the womb of her power, eve plucked from her rib? she can smell it on him, maddeningly, where she noses along the hidden alcove of his throat. sunlight, woven through the storms of salty caladan sea breeze. suckling, she drinks the taste into her mouth with a throaty hum, like she's sampling the explosion of flavor on her tongue — considering a sip of what's on market, before she's ready to drain the glass.
she releases him with a pop, unmarked and unscarred. there's no furious rush, suddenly, to take what's already been yielded to her, pawing at it like a hopeless thief in the night — alina nips, teasing and testing. a mouse playing with a cat's tail, just to see what it can get away with. not much, if his grip is anything to go by, holding her like the steel mouth of a trap. a reminder of possession, even as he submits. a reminder that, inevitably, he'll win. nonsensically, alina needs him to take it, conquered like a battle, a spoil of war pinned on his cock. a keening cry wrings from her at the thought, bearing her hips down on him, sticky folds parting around his twitching dick like a warm embrace.
when her teeth break skin, it's deliberately in the wrong spot, just shy of his mating gland — a bullet that barely grazes. alina smiles, blood on her teeth, licking the stream of his, hers, their blood that collects in his collarbone. )
I won't give it to you. ( she will. even as she whines it, her clit kisses the leaky head of his cock, a needful grind, using him as a toy before he can change the rules, force her to only take what he gives. ) But I don't think you care. It's your turn to give me life. You decided you were going to fuck a baby into me the moment this started, whether I wanted it or not. You're going to come inside my little cunt until it takes. Because I can fight it all I want, but you know it's yours, and you're mine, and I'll never belong to anyone else. You'll make me see it. You'll make me understand, if you have to.
( alina's eyeflashes flutter, kissing his neck where she hides away, little puffing moans buried in his pulse. it doesn't feel repulsive to get off to the fantasy, for once, of being a kept, owned thing, having paul decide what she needs, making all of her choices for her, taking away her right to resist — it just feels freeing, her overwrought mind and her damaged soul and her aching cunt blissfully quiet beyond paul, paul, paul. )
cw: mommy kink (cont. forever), blood play if u squint .... breeding kink, cnc vibes
( his mother, his maker, his savior, his patron saint — parent to all orphaned, abandoned things. jessica could never be such a loving hand to hold. what is paul, anyway, if not one of her own? what is paul, if not conceived by the womb of her power, eve plucked from her rib? she can smell it on him, maddeningly, where she noses along the hidden alcove of his throat. sunlight, woven through the storms of salty caladan sea breeze. suckling, she drinks the taste into her mouth with a throaty hum, like she's sampling the explosion of flavor on her tongue — considering a sip of what's on market, before she's ready to drain the glass.
she releases him with a pop, unmarked and unscarred. there's no furious rush, suddenly, to take what's already been yielded to her, pawing at it like a hopeless thief in the night — alina nips, teasing and testing. a mouse playing with a cat's tail, just to see what it can get away with. not much, if his grip is anything to go by, holding her like the steel mouth of a trap. a reminder of possession, even as he submits. a reminder that, inevitably, he'll win. nonsensically, alina needs him to take it, conquered like a battle, a spoil of war pinned on his cock. a keening cry wrings from her at the thought, bearing her hips down on him, sticky folds parting around his twitching dick like a warm embrace.
when her teeth break skin, it's deliberately in the wrong spot, just shy of his mating gland — a bullet that barely grazes. alina smiles, blood on her teeth, licking the stream of his, hers, their blood that collects in his collarbone. )
I won't give it to you. ( she will. even as she whines it, her clit kisses the leaky head of his cock, a needful grind, using him as a toy before he can change the rules, force her to only take what he gives. ) But I don't think you care. It's your turn to give me life. You decided you were going to fuck a baby into me the moment this started, whether I wanted it or not. You're going to come inside my little cunt until it takes. Because I can fight it all I want, but you know it's yours, and you're mine, and I'll never belong to anyone else. You'll make me see it. You'll make me understand, if you have to.
( alina's eyeflashes flutter, kissing his neck where she hides away, little puffing moans buried in his pulse. it doesn't feel repulsive to get off to the fantasy, for once, of being a kept, owned thing, having paul decide what she needs, making all of her choices for her, taking away her right to resist — it just feels freeing, her overwrought mind and her damaged soul and her aching cunt blissfully quiet beyond paul, paul, paul. )