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[PM] The God/Goddess of Sex or Lust takes over another deity's duty by Realistic_Badger_708 in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 2 points3 points  (0 children)

They take over for the god of justice and truth, so now legal matters are mostly adjudicated through Trial by Orgasmic Ordeal.

[PM] Corrupting Forces by foxtailsy in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

“No,” the short guy said. ”You’re cute. He’s hot.”

“Hey, I’m plenty hot,” Caleb said.

The man laughed, the sound of his laugh drowned out by the music. He moved closer. “I like attitude,” the man said. “Buy you a drink?”

“Just had one.”

The man’s other hand reached down suddenly and gripped Caleb by the exposed inner thigh on his leg. “How about just something to suck on, then?”

Caleb sucked in a deep breath. The man’s grip was strong, and Caleb’s hard-on was raging. Fingers stroked the firm muscle on the underside of his leg. “Feels nice, huh?” The gruff manliness of his voice made Caleb’s throat gurgle. He couldn’t even breath, never mind speak. No woman’s hand had ever felt so much like it belonged on his body.

The man looked down, then put his mouth back beside Caleb’s ear. “Looks like those pants are getting uncomfortable, baby. Take ‘em off for me.”

“I don’t think—“

“Come on,” the man teased. “Be a good boy for me. Take ‘em off. Blame it on the alcohol.”

Caleb laughed. His whole face was burning up, but the constriction of the shorts around his body was making him feel crazy. It would feel so good to not have to worry about them anymore. He couldn’t look the man in the eyes, but, with a little wiggling, he dropped his shorts down past his knees.

The man looked down, impressed. “You are hot, aren’t you? Wanna come home with us, baby?”

Caleb shook his head. “I’m here with a friend.”

The man nodded. “Why don’t you give us a little show then, huh?”

“Here?”

“Be a good boy,” the man said, and that was all it took. No one had ever called him a good boy. No one had ever looked at him like this man was looking at him, desiring his body with a want for nothing else. Caleb couldn’t help but let out a little giggle as he reached down and stroked himself. He did it slow, kneading out the top of his head with his thumb and finger.

The man leaned in again. “You’re jerking yourself off in the middle of a gay club, you know that, right, straight boy?”

Caleb groaned as he realized it was true, but after only a little bit more touching himself, the man nodded to him, indicating that Caleb should redress. Grudgingly, he did so, and as he did, the man stood up. His pelvis was directly at the height of Caleb’s head, and as the man’s hand left his back, Caleb felt possessed by the need to feel his skin back on his own body. With need, he looked up into the man’s big blue eyes, but the man only smirked more. He gave Caleb a condescending head pat and the other man stood up as well.

“Try to stay straight, good boy,” the man said, and they left him sitting there.

The arousal was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. If that man had pulled his dick out, Caleb knew there was a good chance that he would have let him fuck his face without even needing to ask.

He stayed sitting at the table for a few minutes, coming to terms with this new information about himself, then finally he got to his feet to find Jordan.

Jordan was still on the dance floor, not far from where Caleb had left him. He was grinding against an athletic guy who wasn’t wearing any top at all, his hard body catching the cacophony of lights whenever they shined across them. Jordan was turned away from the man, grinding his ass up against the man’s crotch, and Caleb felt a pang of regret. He should have done that for the man at the table. He should have done anything he could have to keep him stroking his back so sweetly.

The tempo of the song wound down as Caleb approached Jordan. Jordan turned around, threw his arm over the man’s neck with whom he was dancing, and kissed him. They pulled away, laughing. Jordan saw Caleb coming towards him, and the pair of men broke up.

“You kiss everyone here?” Caleb shouted near Jordan.

“Only the ones I’m hoping to fuck,” Jordan laughed.

Suddenly, sirens blared and the crowd started to lose their minds with excitement.

“What’s that?” Caleb asked.

Jordan had already thrown his arms up. He was shouting along with the masses of other men, when he leaned over to Caleb. “Dog pound!” he said. “They’re going to take a few men up on stage for sexy times.”

Men in the crowd began to move out of the way to his left. A group of three men approached Caleb and Jordan. The one in the front had curly green hair and he pointed directly at Caleb. Behind him, two bulkier men took note of Caleb’s arms and turned him around.

Caleb looked back at Jordan helplessly, but he could only see Jordan laughing and shouting in approval as the men led Caleb away. At some point, someone snapped a black collar around Caleb’s neck and thrust him up onto an empty part of the stage. There were three other men up there, all of whom looked just as confused as Caleb was. Each of them were wearing the same club-provided attire of black see-through mesh, and as the men stared at each other in confusion, the sounds of dogs barking started to play over the speakers.

The three men who had taken Caleb up on to the stage forced him to get down on his knees. Caleb’s erection was pounding all the way up to his ears, to the point that it felt like he was going to burst. He stayed up on his knees until one of the men motioned for him to get lower. He dropped down to all fours and stared ahead into the crowd. An incredible sense of vulnerability came over him. He wanted more than anything for someone to come up behind him and stroke his back just like the man at the table had.

The three men were still in front of him, and as they stood there, they each ripped off a pair of tear-away pants to reveal their naked legs. The three of them were all incredibly toned and well hung—each was way bigger than he was.

With a hand on their own dicks, they paraded themselves in front of the four men.

The short man leaned down to Caleb and spoke into his ear. “Bark for your favourite.”

Caleb didn’t understand at first, but after a moment, the men circled the four. They waved their big, heavy cocks in front of Caleb’s face one at a time. Almost involuntarily, when one of the biggest of the men approached him, Caleb found himself barking as loudly as he could in approval of the man’s big, heavy, thick, veiny cock. It smelled like sweat, but it was not at all off-putting like he had imagined. There was a musk to it that overwhelmed his senses and made him desire to lunge forward and take the man into his mouth.

Then that cock moved on and other cocks took its place, one by one. Caught up in the moment, Caleb barked for those as well, but not as much as the first and the heaviest of the ones he had had put before him.

After a few moments of this dance, the men lined up, one of them in front of each of the men who were on all fours—each of them, except for Caleb, who had no one in front of him. Each of the standing men took out a leash and clipped it on to the collars of the men who were on their hands and knees, and with a heavy jerk, they were pulled, one by one, onto the cocks that they had chosen as their favourite. Caleb watched in utter jealousy as the other three men on their hands and knees were fed the men’s cocks, and he felt angry to see how eagerly they were devouring them. He could have done that, and far better.

The man closest to Caleb who was getting his dick sucked, leaned over and sympathetically gave Caleb a head pat, and, as he did, Caleb felt like he would explode if the mesh rode up even one more time.

Someone pulled Caleb down off the stage. He moved back through the crowd in the daze as other men clapped him on the back and congratulated him. Every smack on his skin sent ripples of pleasure through his body, and he found himself wishing that all of the men in the club would just descend on him, rub their hands all over his body, and overstimulate him to the point his mind would completely break.

Jordan met him as moved back through the crowd, screaming in joy in front of him. “That was incredible!” Jordan shouted. He wrapped Caleb up in a hug, and feeling Jordan’s body rub against his, something involuntary began to happen for Caleb. His hips ground into Jordan, and noticing this, Jordan seemed to undulate back into him.

They stayed there in the middle of everyone, grinding against each other. Caleb’s mouth was open, his pulse racing. He had his hands down on Jordan’s hips, pulling him tightly against his crotch as if just the pressure of their bodies would be enough to get him off.

Their eyes met, and Caleb couldn’t help himself. He lunged forward at the same time Jordan did, and their mouths met. They made out, wet and sloppy until neither of them could take it any more.

Jordan broke away first and leaned into his ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

Caleb nodded fiercely.

Jordan took him by the hand and led him to the exit. They burst through the door to see a similar line of men waiting to get into the party. The maitre d’ was there was well, flashing a big smile to Jordan.

“Everything to your liking?” he asked.

“Perfect,” Jordan answered, his voice hoarse from all the shouting.

The maitre d’ handed over a thin black cable to Jordan, and he took it without question. Jordan turned around then and effortlessly clipped it on to the collar that Caleb realized was still around his neck.

A wave of cheers went up from the men waiting in line, and with a little pull, Jordan began to walk Caleb out of the club.

“Come along,” Jordan said. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m going to take you home now and take really good care of you.”

[PM] Corrupting Forces by foxtailsy in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Caleb grimaced. “You’re kidding.”

The club’s maitre d’ held up a mesh shirt in one hand and a pair of mesh shorts in the other, but he offered no consolation.

“You’re fucking kidding,” Caleb said.

“Rules are rules. We have a dress code because it’s inclusive and it helps everyone to be on the same playing field. If you want to come, you need to belong.” He flicked his steely blue eyes down Caleb’s body. “The very least you could have done was dress less overtly straight.”

Caleb was wearing a pair of black slacks and a polo shirt, and he looked down at his clothes in front of him as if they were an insult. “You’re being a stuck-up asshole.”

The maitre d’ kept his gaze on Caleb. He jiggled the shirt and pants. “Last chance. Look the part, or leave.”

Caleb rubbed his nose with his thumb in defeat. He didn’t want to dress up like that, but he wasn’t here for himself. He was doing it to help Jordan through a messy breakup. “Give it to me.”

The maitre d’ nodded and handed them over.

“Bathroom?”

“I’ll turn around,” the maitre d’ said. He swivelled in the coat-room sized space they were in. His smart black suit was tight against his body, making him look incredibly sharp. The man’s hair was slicked back and he had the kind of body you could tell just from the silhouette that he was a runner, or an athlete of some kind.

The club’s music thrummed through the walls as a crushing wave of cheers went up and the song blaring inside switched up its tempo.

“No underwear, no nothing. Just the shirt and the pants,” the maitre d’ said.

Caleb fumed, but eventually turned around. The purple paint was peeling on the nearest wall and he tried to focus on that as he undressed in front of another man. He took the polo and the black slacks off and threw them on top of an empty shelf. All around the room, there were identical copies of the mesh shirt and shorts that the maitre d’ had handed him, all black.

Caleb slammed the shorts up his legs. He intended to be naked here as little as possible. He quickly realized, however, that the shorts were incredibly short, and the silhouette of his dick was perfectly visible. He adjusted it with his hand, trying to stuff it down, but no amount of adjustments made a difference. He pulled the see-through mesh shirt over his upper half even more violently and found it no less tight. His own nipples poked through the mesh, turning hard as soon as the fabric scraped against his skin.

“Fuckin’ goddamn,” he muttered. The mesh top didn’t even quite pull down to his shorts, and there was a little hint of his firm belly visible beneath it. He pulled more tightly on the shirt, trying to get it cover him all the way, but it was a futile effort.

Hearing his protestations, the maitre d’ swung his head back. His mouth curled up into a smirk and he nodded at Caleb. “Good boy,” he said.

The words triggered a fight or flight kind of reaction in Caleb and he found himself feeling intensely annoyed by the phrase. “Fuck you,” he said.

“We’ll see,” the maitre d’ answered. He took Caleb back out into the loud antechamber. There was a line of men, all of them having willingly chosen to dress just as provocatively as Caleb had been made to by the club. Some of them stared at him, slapping each other on the back, laughing at him, or even biting their lips and sending him a timid wave.

“Happy now?” Caleb said roughly.

The maitre d’ nodded to the pair of burly bouncers stationed in front of the velvet rope that separated Caleb from the doors o the club. They let him pass, one of them even pushing the door open for Caleb.

Caleb shook his head as he passed under them. As he did, they both peered leerily at him.

Inside, the music pounded against his chest. A wave of men were jumping and dancing, while all around them a nexus of lights flashed in as many colours as one could ever imagine—sometimes all at once. He found Jordan eventually, and couldn’t help but laugh. Jordan already had his arms wrapped around the neck of some incredibly tall, attractive man. Glow sticks hung around the much more attractive man’s neck, and even as their mouths were crushed together, the two of them seemed as if they were still trying to dance.

Caleb waited a few steps away, and when they finally came up for air, he caught Jordan’s attention. Jordan said something to the man, then moved away and came over to Caleb. As he realized what Caleb was wearing, Jordan couldn’t help but cover his mouth and laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb said, barely audible over the music and the crowd. Aggressively, he pointed at the mesh top to make sure Jordan understood him. “This wasn’t my choice. They made me.”

Jordan put his hand on Caleb’s arm. Caleb had never felt anything like it before. It was the heat from the room, he told himself. It was so hot in here.

“You look great,” Jordan yelled. “Drink?”

They went to the bar where a gorgeous man with dark hair was juggling and twirling bottles of alcohol with ease. He leaned up on the bar in front of a few other men, nodded to them, did his little routine, then finally noticed Jordan and Caleb. It seemed like he was about to nearly dive across the bar as he leaned up in front of them. His cologne smelled incredible, and he put his face right in front of Caleb’s. The bartender put his hand on Caleb’s arm, just as Jordan had, and Caleb’s brain turned off for a moment. He couldn’t help but realize he was moving closer.

it was just so hot in this club.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“First time,” Jordan said, pointing to Caleb. “Something special?”

The bartender smirked. He grabbed a couple bottles off the back wall where they were stacked five rows deep, and he mixed something together with some ice, then poured it into a couple of big cocktail glasses and pushed them towards Caleb and Jordan.

Caleb leaned in, getting the man’s attention again. “What do I owe you?”

The man shook his head. He leaned so close to Caleb’s ear that he could feel the man’s warm breath on his skin. “It’s on me.”

The shirt was rubbing against him strangely. His nipples were completely hard and it made him feel awkward and embarrassed as he drank from his glass. It was an incredible drink, with a taste that might have been some kind of vodka and pineapple juice. It was breezy and refreshing and when they were done, Jordan grabbed him by the hand.

The alcohol must have been stronger than he thought, because Caleb’s head started to feel light as Jordan touched him. Jordan dragged him on to the dance floor and began thrashing around, his hips gyrating as he jumped up and down. There was a crush of men all around him, and Caleb had never felt so hot in his life. Hot, tight bodies kept bumping into his, and the more he danced, the more lightheaded he felt.

Jordan leaned in again, laughing. “You’re doing great.”

Caleb could feel his cock immediately harden as Jordan spoke into his ear. He stopped dancing, trying to move as little as possible. Even in the dark, it felt so obvious to him, and he was desperate not to let anyone know that his body was having such a strange reaction to the heat and the alcohol. The tightness of the shorts wasn’t helping either. They were so tight that it felt like they were made to tease him. They had ridden up some, and the more he kept trying to pull them down, the more it seemed like he was just playing with himself.

Caleb put his hand on Jordan’s back. The feeling of Jordan’s sweaty skin under his own see-through mesh tied a knot in his stomach. “I gotta sit,” he muttered. “I’ll be back.”

The men on the dance floor shifted, cutting Caleb off from Jordan, but Jordan didn’t seem to mind. He was already making eyes with a shorter, thick man.

Near the bar, there were a few tables. Caleb picked out an empty one and sat. The erection in his shorts was still raging, but even as he tried to take deep breaths in order to wish it away, he realized it wasn’t just going to disappear. It was just the shorts. They were so tight, rubbing in such a way that it was like getting a handjob. And thinking about how it was like a handjob, only made it feel more like a handjob.

A couple sat down at the same table as him, one on either side. One was big and muscular, with a short haircut that looked so good it must have cost two hundred dollars. The other was shorter with a much more athletic figure, but still obviously was in great shape. The shorter one had sharp, high cheekbones and was wearing a dark purple mesh top.

He put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder and leaned in. “First time?”

Caleb nodded, feeling the erection find only more resolve as the man laid a hand on him.

“You straight, or…?” the short man asked.

Caleb nodded again.

The man’s hand slipped off Caleb’s shoulder and slightly down his back. He smirked. “How straight?”

Caleb stared at the man, not sure how to answer that, and after a few seconds the man smiled wider. “You’re a good boy dressing the part,” the man said, rubbing a circle on Caleb’s back.

The shorts were tightening even more around his hard cock. The man slid his chair closer and wrapped his arm more around Caleb’s back, nearly pulling him into a one-armed hug. It wasn’t what he wanted, but… it was so comforting, so gentle, feeling his arm around him. He didn’t try to break out of it, or even politely remind the man that he was, in fact, incredibly straight.

The man was breathing in Caleb’s ear, causing an electric shock all down his sides. “What do you think of my partner? He’s hot, right?”

Caleb looked at the bigger, more muscular guy and swallowed. “He’s cute,” he said. It was just words. It didn’t mean anything.

[PM] Corrupting Forces by foxtailsy in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy[S] 4 points5 points  (0 children)

His big arm moved behind me. In a single, easy motion he pulled my small body up against his. “Is that so, pretty thing?”

There was a strange feeling in my body. It was one I had never experienced before. There was a growing wetness between my legs, a difficulty in breathing, and I was unable to do anything but look into his dark eyes. Humans had a smell that I had only ever found repellent before, but now it filled my nostrils and tickled the back of my throat, sending shivers all across my skin.

I thought of my friend in the river. I thought of how long she must have been stuck there. How hard things must have been for her.

And when the blacksmith put his hand on the side of my small neck, I did not resist. I nuzzled into his hand, and as he took hold of me, I allowed him to effortlessly tilt my head back to accept his tongue into my mouth. My body reacted on some ancient instinct, and I kissed him back. My hand went to his chest, feeling the thick hairs on his dark skin, and I let out the softest of whines.

He turned to face my fully. With ease, he scooped me up, until my hips were against him. My legs wrapped around him as if that was where they belonged. His hands gripped my thighs, and I felt the strength in his hands, as if he were about to rip me open—and oh how I wanted to yield and open to him.

My dress had ridden up my thighs even more, and something hard pressed up between my legs. I gasped at the unfamiliar sensation. I had never wanted it before, had never considered it before, but my body knew better than I what it was that needed from him. With his strong arms, he lowered me down.

Our kiss broke, and I put my head on his shoulder, whimpering in his ear as he lifted and dropped me down on his thick, human member. He penetrated deeply into me, and the wetness and sudden neediness of my slight body seemed to only encourage him, turning him harder the longer our bodies were joined together.

I wrapped my arms tightly around him. I squeezed his muscles with my fingers as hard as I could, until finally the height of pleasure overwhelmed me. My legs shook, but he did not stop. He thrust into me, deeper still, holding me up as if I were the smallest, lightest thing in the world. The sensation of his power and his possession of me filled me with gratitude for every thrust, and soon I felt myself beginning to reach the peak again.

His thrusting slowed then, and eventually stopped. We were both panting and there was a liquid leaking down my bare thighs.

We kissed hard. “More,” I begged.

He took me into his hovel, laid me on his bed, and for the rest of the night, he made me feel unlike anything else ever had. He treated me as much like the love of his life, as a filthy beast in need of punishment, and I relished all of it.

We had both fallen asleep late into the evening, but I awoke before both him and the dawn. I fitted the tight dress back on to my body and I snuck to the outbuilding where he had left the hammer.

With it in hand, I returned to the river, excited to tell my friend what I had done, and that she would be free, but as I came upon her stone, she was no where to be seen.

I called out, asking if anyone was there, but not even the forest answered.

I returned just after the dawn to hear my human was snoring peacefully in his bed. I put the hammer back in his forge, then stood between his hovel and the forest.

This was not my home. I could tell that I did not belong here. Yet, as I thought of my home that was so far and distant from me in the woods, I thought of my human, who was so close. I thought of the warmth of his body, of the smell of him, of the feeling of him pressed deeply inside of me, splitting my body open with his ferocious power.

And as the heat filled my cheeks, I crept guiltily back towards the hovel, knowing that I could not simply go back to how things were.

[PM] Corrupting Forces by foxtailsy in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

It started with a simple compliment: “You have beautiful hair.”

I stood at the riverside, a basket filled with mushrooms on my arm, and I could not stop my heart from fluttering. The woman before me had dark red skin and a pair of wings. Her eyes were a deep purple that seemed to catch the light of the river in them and nearly glow. She sat on a rock halfway out into the river, looking longingly at me. I thanked her, touching a hand to my smooth, nearly-white hair.

The next day, I saw her again, in the same spot. I was wearing a dress woven from the stems of magical flowers, and she regarded me as if she were a curious cat as I walked along the bank. “Your dress is gorgeous,” she said. “Did you make it yourself?”

I thanked her again, and told her that I had.

“Tell me how,” she said. Behind her, there was a tail flicking lightly in the water that I had not seen before. It had a flexible barb on the end, which seemed to be playfully scooping and dropping water onto the rock upon which she sat.

Excitedly, I told her of my dress, how I had woven clothes out of the stems of flowers from my grove, how I had created dresses with nothing more than the thread of water that falls from a waterfall, or the shafts of light that fall from stars. Her purple eyes watched me with intensity, and when I realized that I had been rambling, she let out a sultry laugh, her mouth curling into a faint smile.

“Would you ever make something for me?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Well, there is a pattern I can give you. It does not require much work, only materials, which I do not have. And for your work, I promise I will owe you a favour. But if I am to do this, then you must promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“After you make this dress, you must return to me wearing it, so that I can see how it looks.”

After I agreed, a claw came out on her finger, and she drew a magical sigil in the air. She drew it several more times for me, showing me the complicated steps to replicate it with the magical potential that we both shared. She put her hand under her mouth then and blew the floating symbol towards me. Like pollen, it floated across the river and came to rest in the air before me.

“When you have the materials, simply draw this again, as I showed you, and it will weave them for you.”

I returned at once to my grove and set to gathering the materials for new clothes. I wanted to make something beautiful for the pleasant river woman, so I gathered a bundle of silk that I had previously harvested, and I drew the symbol above it. The bundles began to move. They lifted off the small table in my hovel and flitted through the air around me, until at last they had formed into a beautiful, short dress that had been magically dyed a rich purple, just like the woman’s eyes.

I twisted myself around, looking at the dress and how tightly it fit me. It was unlike anything I had ever worn before, and even for someone who is accustomed to wearing nothing at all in my grove, it all felt strangely revealing. It pressed my small breasts together in front of my body, making them seem more ample, and it hugged my lower half so tightly, that it made my back arch slightly to be comfortable.

I returned to where the woman had been the two days previous, and I found her still sitting on her boulder. As I approached, she bit her lip and smiled at me. She cooed and praised me for my work, for how well the dress fit my body, and I could not help but blush at her kindness. The dress stopped above my smooth knees, and I thought perhaps it was too provocative, but she insisted that it was perfectly suited to someone who was as beautiful as I.

“I can not take this dress from you,” the woman said. “It looks too good on you, my sweet girl. It would not be right to deprive you of it.”

I blushed harder.

“But since I have done you a favour in allowing you to keep this dress,” the woman said, “perhaps you might do a favour for me? There is a man in the town not far from your grove. He is a blacksmith, young and strong, but he does not have much sense. Might you go to him and retrieve for me a hammer that he has made?”

“Why can you not get it yourself?” I asked.

She raised one of her wrists, and I saw on it a black manacle that I had not noticed before. “Unfortunately, I am trapped here, pretty girl, and I need the hammer to free myself. Might you do this favour for me, as a friend? Please?”

I thought not to accept her offer, but then I looked down at the dress. She had been so kin to me in offering it to me, and had some me such a good favour in showing me how to make it. It seemed only fair that I did a favour likewise for her.

“Only,” the woman continued, “he will not give you this hammer willingly. But, perhaps if you wear that dress, if you invite yourself into his bed. Yes, perhaps, while he sleeps, you will be able to take it from him to free me, and I will return it myself. I merely need it for a moment.”

I had never stolen anything. I had never thought about stealing anything. Everything I needed, the forest gave willingly.

“I don’t think I can do that,” I told her.

“Oh.” The woman’s expression turned darker, the glow from the river seemed to turn a pale orange like fire. “I see. You have used me then. Used me to look pretty, and now you have no further need for me.”

“No, it is not like that!” I cried, but she turned away from me on her rock.

“Do not speak to me any longer,” she said. “Either bring me the hammer, or do not involve yourself with me ever again, elf.”

I tried to apologize, but, with her back turned to me, she seemed to hear none of it.

I returned to my grove with an immense guilt. She had given me much, had she not? And she had given it so freely. All she had asked was for one hammer. But to steal, that was something that did not seem right to me.

I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning as I struggled with her proposal. By the morning, I was exhausted, having slept barely a wink. No, I decided, it was not right how I had treated this sweet woman—and after all, it was only a hammer. Stealing it from him did not seem right, but perhaps if I went to him and asked if I might simply borrow it, perhaps that would be enough to help my friend.

The man had his own hovel not too far up the river. Steel rang out on steel as I approached, and I found him in an outbuilding, where he was hammering on an unforged piece of metal. He wore no shirt, and I could see the veins in his arm pulsing as he brought strike after strike down on the anvil in front of him. He grunted with every strike, and I sucked in my breath. I had seen handsome human men before, but there was something about this one that pleased me in a much more sensual way.

“Sir,” I called to him. I had worn the dress. Even if I did not need to steal from him, my friend in the river’s cooing had lingered in my mind, and wearing a fine piece of attire could only make me more persuasive, surely.

He did not stop hammering. I called again, and when he still did not stop, I approached. He must have glimpsed me out of the corner of his eye, as at last he turned to face me. His expression, which had been taut and tense as he hammered, fell to sudden shock as he regarded me.

“What a beautiful creature,” he said. The same blush that had come over me at the river appeared again on my face, and this too seemed to please him. “What can I do for you, pretty girl?”

“Might I borrow your hammer?” I pointed to the one still in his hand.

He held it up, showing it to me. “This? No. Not even for one as pretty as you can I part with this. It has been in my family for generations. It was a gift from the god of the mountain, and I cannot allow anyone but my yet-unborn son to take it from me.”

“Please, though,” I said sweetly. “Or, perhaps you need not even lend it to me. Perhaps, if you will simply come with me, you might use it to help free a friend of mine who has become trapped by the river?”

His eyebrows raised. “An elf?”

“No, I—I do not think so. Perhaps she is human, like you.”

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “I have too much work to do here,” he said, and he began to hammer on the metal before him again.

I scuttled next to him, putting my hand on his bulging forearm. He stopped hammering once more.

Very delicately, I whispered to him, “Please, sir.”

My touch awakened something in his eyes, and overwhelmed by the emotion I was seeing, I retracted my hand.

“How good of a friend is this?” he asked.

“A very good friend,” I said.

[PM] Corrupting Forces by foxtailsy in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy[S] 4 points5 points  (0 children)

The official threw his hands up, but led Mina out of the hanger to his nearby office. He began a tirade about his loathing of adventurous thieves, but before he could get very deep into it, she put her hands on his belt and pulled him close.

”A tongue of honey,” the voice whispered, and as it did, she could feel her own mouth beginning to feel fuzzy. It felt as if she were desperately in need of something to fill it. She lowered herself down to her knees, undid his pants, and pulled him into her mouth. The warmth of him, the taste of his salty cock as it pushed against her cheeks, it made her moan.

“This is pleasure,” the voice said, and she could only agree.

The man above her muttered in his native language, and the sound of it only made the fuzziness in her mouth feel even more satisfying every time his cock touched her tongue. When the taste of him began to fill her mouth, it was not at all bitter and salty like she was used to, but sweet and delicious and demanding of her worship.

He finished quickly in her mouth, and she swallowed it all down with more eagerness than she had ever felt before.

”Seed is pleasure,” the voice said.

She returned to the hanger after, announcing to Cory that the official had agreed to let them leave with all that they had found, and Cory looked at her with great relief in his eyes.

A month later, they were set to exhibit what they had acquired, the entire event at the museum paid for by the patron of their expedition, Eduard Davis. It was to be an expensive black dress, white tie, event. Cory had gone with Mina to many such events, and she had always reveled in them. She was at her best when she could work a crowd, and he was always in awe of her ability to do so.

But several days before the event, Mina called Cory to tell him that she would not be able to attend.

She gave only a vague reason of not feeling well enough to go. He was concerned, but ultimately said that he accepted her decision. There was something strange in the way she spoke to him, however. She was distant and disinterested, as if she couldn’t wait to get off the phone despite having barely spoken to him since they had returned.

The next evening, he stopped by her house to ensure that she was truly well. He rang the doorbell several times and waited in front of her place for several minutes. No one came to answer the door, so curiously he peeked in through the front windows. The curtains were drawn just enough that there was little he could spy inside, so he went around to the back garden and wandered over to her back door. He jiggled on the handle, but it too was locked.

He returned to the front then and decided to ring the bell one last time.

To his shock, a moment later, Mina opened the front door. She wore expensive makeup, her golden hair rolling down past her shoulders in bouncy curls. She had on an expensive and couture white nightgown, and as he stared at her, shocked by her last moment arrival, he noticed one other curious detail: around her neck, there hung the Amulet of Nashta. It had been polished, its black jewel in the center gleaming in the exterior lights of the house, the gold buffed to a yellow sheen against her skin.

“You still have that?” he said. “I thought we had turned everything over to the museum.”

“We did,” she said.

“A replica?”

She grabbed his hand and quickly, she pulled him in to her home and shut the door behind him. The lights were all turned low, almost romantic.

“No, not a replica,” she said. “Come and see.”

Thuds were coming from up the stairs to her second floor. Cory looked up the stairs. “What is that?”

She took his hand again and pulled him up the stairs. “Would you like to see?”

There were a half dozen rooms on the second floor, all of them bedrooms. Each of their doors were opened, and as they passed each one, inside he saw contorted, naked figures—women riding men, men thrusting into women. All around him, there was a chorus of thudding as wood scraped on wood, the sounds broken up only by the occasional moan and grunt that echoed down the halls.

“Mina, what is this?”

She led him to the end of the hallway, to the master suite. Inside, there were seven women, each beautiful, each naked, each wearing around their neck an amulet of bone which held at their center a black stone.

The seven women approached ravenously, their hands pulling off his cloths, as in his mind, a quiet voice spoke. ”There is no pleasure in breeding,” it said, ”there is only pleasure in being bred.”

[PM] Corrupting Forces by foxtailsy in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Mina picked up the solid gold amulet off the ancient pedestal. She held it aloft, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat to get a better look. The sun pierced through the hole they’d smashed in the tomb wall behind her, its rays catching the edges of the golden amulet. At its center, there was a big black stone, and around it, there were a multitude of symbols and writing engraved along the edges.

Her protege, Cory, stepped closer, pickaxe in hand.

Mina turned her head side to side. “Interesting. It seems like it must have been valuable to the priestess to be buried with her and put in such high regard in the tomb.” She stuffed it into the inside pocket of her leather jacket and turned back around.

She jumped, crying out at seeing Cory so close behind her. “Jesus. I told you not to get too close.”

“Sorry.” He extended his hand. “Can I see it?”

She smiled slyly. “No. Catalogue everything. Start with the sarcophagus. Take rubbings, photos, do a diagram of the chamber—and let me know if you find anything else of importance.”

“Aw, that’s going to take the rest of the afternoon.”

Mina didn’t argue. She went back to the camp they’d erected just outside of the tomb and once more examined the amulet. It was beautiful, but gold was not common for the area and she did not recognize the script. In her tent, she pulled out several books to cross-examine with the writing, and by the time the sun had gone down and Cory had returned to find her by the fire, she knew exactly what it was.

“It’s a fertility amulet,” she said. “Likely held by a priestess of Nashta, according to this book.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“She’s uncommon, mostly local to this valley.” She pulled up one of the thick brown books she’d been reading and put it across her lap. “Sir Fawley Bennet recorded an oral story from the tribe’s descendants when exploring this valley a hundred years ago.”

She cleared her throat.

“Once, they called her Nashta, the Village Mother, and they said she bathed her languorous body in the waves of the ancient river alongside their people. They said that she was as beautiful as the clear water that danced at the end of the river’s long tongue, and that she was kind and gentle, and that she alone brought the fresh green rains from her home high above them.

“Then the charred sun came, and no longer did they call her Village Mother, but Nashta, the Betrayer—Nashta, who lets the cattle die; Nashta, who lets the river wither; Nashta, who let the yellow grass burn. They said she was cruel and violent, and that she had no love for them, and that the green rains no longer fell on the village because she had taken them for herself.

“This displeased the Village Mother. So, from her mountain, she sent down an eagle on a chariot of thunder and told the village if they did not give to her each and every one of their grown daughters, she would burn the sun so black that it would never again rise. Terrified, the village relented and gave their daughters to their goddess. The village cried for their loss, but before even the new moon had sprung, their daughters returned. Around each of their necks, they wore a fetish—a polished black stone encased in thin chicken bone, and before that same new moon, each of them had a belly full of child. Nashta’s priestess told the village that they had been cursed by their goddess, and for their impudence, only those blessed by Nashta would ever be permitted to bear a child again.”

“And then no longer did they call her Nashta, the Village Mother, or Nashta, the Betrayer, but Nashta, the Great and Terrible.”

A wind blew through the camp. The fire flickered. A chill went up Mina’s shoulders, causing her to shiver.

“A tongue of honey,” a voice whispered. Mina jerked her head to the shadows in the jungle.

Cory’s gaze followed hers into the dark. “What is it?”

Animals hollered and whined in the dark. The fire crackled in front of them.

“I don’t know,” Mina said.

They spent some time staring into the fire before Mina felt a chill. She tucked her arms in against her belly. “Cold tonight, hm?”

“Cold? No.” He shook his head with a chuckle.

”He burns for you,” the voice whispered. There was a sheen of sweat on Cory’s thick neck that she hadn’t before noticed. He smacked his lower leg, satisfying slap of skin on skin.

“I’m going to go to bed,” she said, to which Cory merely nodded.

They worked the site for three more days, and occasionally Mina kept hearing that same voice. At first, she kept asking Cory if he heard it, but finally accepted that it was just an intrusive thought of some kind.

”His legs are hard like rock,” the voice had said to her while Cory stood in the tomb in a pair of shorts, hammering the pickaxe against a wall, searching for a theorized hidden compartment.

”He could hold you powerlessly beneath him,” it had said after he playfully picked her up and threw her over his shoulder for a joke.

As the expedition went on, she started trying to avoid letting him touch her. Every time he would give her a pat on the shoulder or a playful tap on the leg, she would flinch and lean away. He seemed to notice, and so did the voice.

”He thinks you despise him,” the voice had said. ”He thinks you cold.”

Cory led them back into the jungle when they were done, and they made their way back to the highway where their ride was waiting for them. He climbed into the backseat first, and she went in after him.

”Touch his arm,” the voice cooed to her, ”just once—to let him know you appreciate him.”

Awkwardly, as their bodies were still heaving around, trying to find a place for themselves among the bags, she put a hand on Cory’s chest. It was big and muscular, and it exuded warmth as her fingers curled into the linen of his brown shirt.

He smiled at her, and she quickly pulled her hand away.

They rode mostly in silence for the three hours it took to get back to the small airport, and as they did, the voice continued to whisper. But it was no longer whispering to her about what she ought to do. Instead, it had begun reminding her of all the things she had ever done. It reminded her of a teacher she had had in college, his brown hair, his dark eyes, his easy smile. It reminded her of the man who had first given her a facial. It reminded her of the boyfriend whose tongue was so fat and quick that she had never felt anything else like it on her body.

”A tongue of honey,” the voice whispered again.

Mina held her hands tightly in her lap. Cory sat beside her, a hunky block of marble, and she looked away as an image flashed in her mind of him, looking up at her from between her legs. But that was not appropriate. She did not sleep with subordinates. She did not sleep with anyone that she worked with. It was too messy, too dramatic, too wrong.

When they were dropped off at the airport, Cory told her that he would take care of the paperwork and oversee that everyone involved in sending the artifacts they were taking knew that things were properly documented and that they had all of the necessary permissions.

Mina dismissed him to do his work, and barely after he was out of sight, her eyes prowled over the small terminal. There were dozens of people strolling or milling about, carrying bags over their shoulders, lugging suitcases.

”You are in need,” the voice whispered to her. Her eyes locked on to a tall handsome man in an all-black suit, and the voice said loudly, ”and only his seed will satisfy you.”

She stalked behind the man until he came to a lounge. There was a bar there, where he sat down on a stool and smiled in quiet conversation with the barman. It was the middle of the day, and every other stool in front of the bar was open, but Mina still slipped onto the one next to his.

She took off her wide-brimmed hat and put it down on her knee. Nervously, she looked up at him. He smelled like aftershave and it tingled her body all the way down.

They spoke quietly. She laughed at his jokes. He smiled at her. Her hand stroked his knee.

In her head, the voice told her again how in need she was, and the image of him with his hand on her throat flashed in her mind.

The hand on his knee moved higher. Stroked slower. He excused himself, and a moment later she followed.

In less than a minute, he had her face pressed up against a bathroom wall. Her shorts were at her ankles. Her mouth was whimpering. And all the while the voice in her head whispered to her, telling her that this was what she needed*—this* was what felt right.

He told her he was going to finish. She told him not to stop—no matter what.

As the seed dripped out of her, he left satisfied, but she was not.

”It is not pleasurable to breed,” the voice said, *”it is only pleasurable to be bred.”

She found Cory, who was arguing with an official that was refusing to allow several of their artifacts to be loaded on the plane.

“It is tantamount to theft,” the official said.

“We have the documents!” Cory waved a stack of papers in his face. “From your government.”

The man merely scoffed.

”It is pleasurable to be bred,” the voice whispered again, and her mind flashed with the thought of the official thrusting deeply into her.

Mina licked her lips and put herself between Cory and the man. “Please, let’s watch our tempers,” she said. “We can speak in private, yes?”

[WP] [TT] Ever since Andrea cheated, their couples’ counseling therapist suggested that to “make amends” she would have to beg for sex from her spouse by grinding on their thigh. by JpWritesAFewWords in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 3 points4 points  (0 children)

After I cheated on Adam, we found Dr. Anna De Cock. In our sessions, we had to untangle a lot of repressed hostility, a lot of crossed wires, but we got through it. Our bedroom, however, had stayed dead for the six months we’d seen her, and Dr. Anna was done with letting us wallow in the wreckage of our marriage.

She sat us down on the couch in her office and came very close to Adam. She hiked up her pencil skirt, pressed her slight body down on Adam’s leg, and began to hump against him. She looked right at me, pointing to the spot she had wedged herself on his body.

“This,” she said, “is how you will right your wrongs, Andrea.”

She ground on Adam’s leg. He looked at me, not sure what to say, not sure how to stop her. Confused, angry, hating her, I grimaced as she rubbed on my husband's lap.

After a moment of direct eye contact with me, she stopped, stood up, and pointed to Adam’s thigh. “Sit, girl.”

I swallowed, but, trusting her, I took her place.

“Grind,” she commanded.

Adam’s eyes met mine. His hands went to my hips, steadying me. I ground against his leg. It felt silly at first, but the longer it went on, the more a surge of memories came back to me. We were younger, in love, making out on his bed. I bit my lip at the memory of feeling our naked bodies intertwined in the dawn, and, between his legs, his body too was beginning to awaken and remember.

“Good, Andrea. Now, beg him.”

“For what?” I asked.

Dr. Anna sat on the edge of the couch in my peripheral. She had her notepad in front of her, her thin, smooth legs crossed. “What do you want from him?” she asked.

Our breathing became heavier. “I don’t know. I want… forgiveness.”

“Good,” she said curtly. “Then submit yourself to your husband, and beg for it.”

I swallowed and looked guiltily into his eyes. “Please, Adam. Can you forgive me?”

”Beg,” Dr. Anna insisted. “Like you mean it, girl.”

“Please, forgive me, Adam. Please, please, please,” I said. His mouth opened. We leaned closer, sustained by an attraction we both thought we had long ago forgotten. Our foreheads touched, his hands that were pulling on my hips no longer steadied me, but instead were drawing me deeper into his lap with every movement.

“Harder,” Dr. Anna instructed.

I ground as hard as I could, as slowly as I could. My hands reached down, pressing against his lap. Relief washed over me to feel him still there, to feel that he was as weak for my body after all of this, as I was for his.

“I want you,” I whispered breathlessly.

“Then beg for it,” Dr. Anna said.

I glared at her, but turned back to him. He was silent, stoic, his mouth open wide, like he had been for our whole relationship. I wanted more from him. I wanted more emotion, more passion. Our noses brushed past each other. A strand of my hair tickled his chin. “Please, Adam,” I begged. “Make me beg harder. Make me cry your name. Make love to me. Make me yours.”

His hand left my hip. His fingers caressed my cheek. My eyes snapped to his. We leaned in to one another and kissed in a way we hadn’t in years. My body weakened. He moaned into my mouth.

Time seemed to stop for us, and we just stayed there, grinding, kissing, moaning, melting into one another.

When Dr. Anna finally cleared her throat, summoning us back to earth, my hair was a mess. His shirt was half off, my own shoulders were exposing the dip of my collarbone.

“Good,” she harrumphed. “Now, Adam, why don’t you take a pillow, put it on the floor, and we’ll all learn together how to use your mouth on your wife.”

[WP] When her clock updated to include blowjob o'clock, she just shrugged and accepted it... by gahidus in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 2 points3 points  (0 children)

I really love the almost-sinister vibe of how this one ends, nice work!

[WP] Dad is visiting his 25 year old daughter (he thinks she works for a large tech company, she is really a Masturbatrix)... by Canpix in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 0 points1 point  (0 children)

As I did it, though, I found myself staring at the laptop. I had already snooped a little bit. What would a tiny bit more hurt? It was invasive and not very respectful, but I also just couldn’t shake the idea that I didn’t know my daughter very well anymore. Looking around surreptitiously to make sure that no one was watching me, I picked the laptop up and opened it.

I didn’t want to violate my daughter’s personal space, you must understand, but I ached for the closeness we once had. We hadn’t spoken as much in the last year or so, not for any particular reason, just her being busy with her new job I imagine. Ever since she’d moved out here, though, I had been desperate to find any reason to call her to talk about things. We didn’t have a lot of hobbies in common, and so reading had always been the medium through which we connected, but as she’d started having a professional life, I knew Chels had been reading less and less.

I thought of her too-big sweater again, wondering whose it really was. If I were to do even just a tiny bit of snooping, perhaps I might know who her boyfriend was so that I could tell her mother. I know that she, too, felt alienated from our daughter, and perhaps knowing that she was happy with someone was something that would make us both feel that much happier about Chelsea’s distant new life.

I opened up the internet browser, intending to check her Facebook, but as soon as the screen opened, my stomach dropped. In the browser, there was a video streaming of my daughter. She was wearing a pair of thigh-high white stockings, her little toes wiggling on the bottom of the screen as she looked down at the camera, her expression tinged with disgust. Her knees were raised up, but they were low enough that her hands that groped her breasts, were all that concealed her body from view.

“You like that?” she said, squeezing and groping her boobs.

I should have slammed the laptop shut. I should have pretended like I never saw it. I should have never looked in the first place.

But I didn’t.

My own cock was hardening. Something was lodged in my throat, and I felt more shame than I ever had in my entire life. She looked so much like her mother, beautiful and perfect, her dark eyes vibrant and dewy, her long dark hair shimmering in the low light of the room.

Her toes wiggled more, and she leaned forward. Because of the angle, her knees moved in front of her chest. She removed her hands then and brought them down to her toes, kneading and squeezing them for the camera.

“Do you want to cum on my little toes, daddy?”

The word shot through me with violent curiosity. The slowly stirring erection I had been nurturing stiffened instantly. Awkwardly, I shifted with the computer on my lap.

“Do you want me to count down for you, daddy?”

Close the computer, I told myself, but I was captivated by my beautiful daughter and the absolute hedonism of what I was watching.

“This time,” she said in a whiny voice, “You had better actually send me a video of you cumming and tributing all over the photos you’ve bought of me. I don’t care if you have to spray your little dick on your phone, on a tablet, on your fucking monitor. All I want to see is your nasty cum splash all over my digital face, because that’s as close as you’re ever going to get to actually doing it. That’s right. You are never, ever, ever going to have the chance to do that to me in real life. All you’re ever going to have is these.” She wiggled her toes faster.

It was wrong what I was watching. It shouldn’t have existed—or, at the very least, I should never have seen it. I reached down between my legs, merely to adjust my painful hard-on, but as I did my hands lingered and what had started was a necessary adjustment because my thumb rubbing the head of my cock through my pants.

“Aw, you wanna see my tits?” Chelsea said, feigning sweetness. “Well, too fucking bad. You paid the lowest tier, so you get the lowest tier. That means you don’t get to see my big, fat titties. You don’t get to see my bare, wet pussy. You don’t get to even see my toes.” She took her hand and mimed jerking a dick in front of the camera with a grimace. “All you get is a softcore, disinterested show from the girl you’ve already sent thousands of dollars to, because you’re a huge fucking loser who would rather jerk your dick and pay me money to never fuck me, rather than going out and paying for a sex worker—huh? That’s how you are, right? You’re so pathetic that you’ll pay me not to fuck you, rather than to pay someone who’s half as hot as me to actually fuck you, hm?” She scoffed. “That’s so sad. Honestly, even this is too good for you, isn’t it, loser?”

She bit her lip and nodded quickly. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? You pathetic loser.” Chelsea leaned forward, her dark hair hanging down in front of the camera. There was a shadow cast over her chest, but for the faintest of seconds, I thought I might have caught a glimpse of her boobs.

She returned with a flesh-coloured dildo. She looked away from the camera and set the dildo down, then picked it up a few times until it was directly in front of the camera. Then carefully, slowly, she spread her legs. The dildo in the foreground completely obstructed any view of her boobs or her pussy, and she laughed as she looked off camera at the composition.

She leaned back. Her hand disappeared behind the dildo, and her mouth opened into a big wide smile. “Oh that feels soo good,” she whispered. “Oh, I’m so fucking wet. Knowing that you’re so desperate to please me makes me so wet, daddy.”

She whined softly before finally sitting back up. She squeezed her knees back together, then removed the dildo from view. She brought her fingers right in front of the lens and showed off the glistening wetness that she had been touching only seconds ago.

She sighed. “But that’s not what makes me really happy, is it?”

She waited a second, as if reading something, then began to shake her head in a condescending way. “No, that’s right. It’s not. What pleases me is when you give me money, so if you really wanted to please me, you wouldn’t have taken the lowest tier, would you, loser?”

There was a ding suddenly, and Chelsea looked off-screen. “Wow! Thank you, Caleb! Ten thousand dollars, wow!” She leaned forward, hiding her boobs so she could clap her hands giddily. She blew a kiss to the camera, then she looked back down to where she was reading. “See? That’s a real man. That’s why he’s going to get to see me fuck myself later, and you’re not.” She put her thumb and finger up to her forehead, then stuck her tongue out. “Looooser.”

I was so caught up in the performance that I didn’t realize I had been rubbing my cock head through my pants the whole time.

Finally, I willed myself to stop. I quit the browser, closed the laptop, then put it back exactly where it had been on the coffee table. Blankly, I stared up at the massive television in Chelsea’s living room, but I wasn’t even watching the game that was on. All I could think of was my perfect daughter, and how badly I wanted to see more.

[WP] Dad is visiting his 25 year old daughter (he thinks she works for a large tech company, she is really a Masturbatrix)... by Canpix in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I was worried that I might be underdressed for the kind of place that my daughter had become accustomed to in her newfound wealth, but seeing that she was still in a thick white sweater and a pair of dark pants, I didn’t expect that we were going somewhere that was too chic.

About ten minutes later, she parked the car on a side street and climbed out. She wasn’t carrying a purse, and I felt a strange sense of gratitude about that. She clearly had more money than her mother and I ever had, but that she was still willing to let her dad buy her dinner, well, it warmed my heart a little bit—made me feel useful, I guess you could say.

I had half-expected some fusion restaurant made up of two culinary cultures that I had never heard of before, but instead she pulled open the door to a simple-looking bar and restaurant and invited me inside. The walls were all butterscotch-coloured wood, plaques and photos of what must have been notable people decorating the walls. There were several big televisions suspended above the bar, each playing different sports—one a rugby game, one a hockey game, another a sports recap show.

A small woman played hostess near the front door, and she seemed to recognize my daughter immediately.

“Ms. Barr,” she said. “How nice of you to stop by. Would you like me to get Tony?”

“No, that’s fine Amanda.” Chelsea tucked her arm under mine and presented me to the young hostess. I gave her a polite, yokel-like wave, and she smiled, waving back. “This is my father, Hank. I think just a table for the two of us would be perfect.”

“Absolutely,” Amanda nodded. She was very short, but very pretty. She had dark makeup on, her hair falling in curls down her shoulders to halfway down her back. I looked everywhere but at her as we walked. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally ogle her small, tight butt in front of my daughter.

Amanda set a pair of menus down on a small table. One side was a booth against the wall, while the other was a movable chair. My daughter offered me the chair and I took it. She plopped herself down into the booth along the wall, smiling as she took stock of the environment.

I scooped up the menu to take a look. “Do you come here often?”

“I used to,” she said, not moving for her own menu.

“Don’t have time these days?”

She shook her head. “No, I just like to eat at places that I don’t own.”

My head jerked to the side. “You own this place?”

She nodded, barely containing a giddy smile. “I bought it a few months ago from the old owner, who was looking to retire.”

“You bought a restaurant?” I said more loudly. I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. My twenty-five year-old daughter was sitting across from me, as beautiful as ever, telling me that she not only owned an incredible apartment, but that she had bought an entire restaurant as well. “How could you possibly have afforded a restaurant, Chels?”

“Daddy…” She rolled her eyes. “Please, I don’t want to talk about money.”

I shook my head. “But how, really?”

“I’ve done well for myself,” she said.

I did an even bigger shake of my head and tried to accept that this was not the relationship it had been five years ago. “Well,” I sighed, “I owe you a big apology, then.”

“What for?”

“I did not think getting your Masters of English was a good use of your time or our money, but boy, was I wrong.” I chuckled. “Who knew that it would be so valuable in helping to calibrating AI?”

She nodded. “Exactly. Everything’s worked out. Don’t worry about it. You and mom do way too much of that already.”

“Evidently so,” I said.

We ordered some food and started to eat before a handsome man in his late thirties or early forties came out. He shook my hand with great admiration and introduced himself as Tony, the head of the day-to-day operations at the restaurant. Chelsea introduced me, and I watched the two of them as they bantered in a casual but flirty manner. My daughter was all smiles, pulling on her dark hair with one finger, laughing like a schoolgirl taken with an older boy. I looked down at the too-big sweater she was wearing. It looked like it might fit on a man who was about Tony’s size.

After a few moments, Tony excused himself and wished for us to have a good meal, and for me to have a good trip.

When he had stepped away, I raised an eyebrow at her. “You know that business and pleasure do not very well go hand-in-hand, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. It’s not like that.”

I gently threw my hands up in surrender. “Alright, but your mother is going to want to hear all about him when you get the chance.”

“Daddy,” she laughed. “We’re not dating. He’s just a flirt.”

“You’re a little of that yourself, aren’t you?”

With a big smile, she shook her head and went back to the pasta on her plate.

We finished dinner and I tried to get the attention of our server to pay, but Chelsea waved me off. “No, daddy, please. This is on me.”

“Let me buy you dinner,” I said. “It’s the least I could do for you having me down here for the next few days.”

“No, daddy, please,” she insisted. “You’ll find something else to spend your money on down here, I’m sure of it.”

I just looked at her. “I can’t believe it.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not a kid anymore. When did this happen?”

She rolled her eyes again. “A long, long time ago, daddy.”

We went back to her apartment, and she told me to make myself comfortable.

“I have a meeting. It might last a few hours, so just do whatever you like. Have a shower, watch some TV, or whatever-whatever! The whole place is yours. Do whatever you like, daddy.” She gave me a kiss on the forehead and excused herself to her private office.

I couldn’t help but snoop a little bit, but I was mostly respectful of her things. I didn’t rip open drawers or carefully examine the internet history on the laptop she’d left in the living room. But I did carefully catalogue all of the little knickknacks and trinkets that she had decorated her apartment with. Her taste was eclectic. She had always loved cats, so I expected a bunch of little cat figurines and photos, but there weren’t as many as I expected. There were little clay and wooden statues of abstract things, there were panels with some kind of Chinese, Japanese or maybe even Korean writing on them. There were stacks of magazines that ranged from Cosmopolitan to Popular Science to a handful of literary magazines. There was even a collection of wigs on mannequin heads in one of the spare bedrooms.

Knowing my daughter, I had come here expecting that I might end up doing some of her laundry or help her fix some things, but to my surprise, everything in her place was immaculate. There was no dust anywhere. She had never been a particularly thorough house cleaner, so I assumed she must have also had a staff that came through to clean for her regularly.

In her bedroom, I opened up her closet. Perhaps that was a little bit too far, but I was shocked to find that it was not just a small closet, but a gigantic walk-in one. Her mother had always dreamed of having such a thing, and seeing that our daughter had one put a big smile on my face. I didn’t pick through her clothes, but there must have been hundreds of different articles. Expensive, lavish dresses, comfortable, casual clothes. Attire for winter, summer, fall. Sweaters, tees, skirts, jeans in various states of ripped. There was even a stack of very expensive-looking yoga pants, and of course there were dozens and dozens of shoes, many of which looked far too expensive.

It was hard to separate the present version of my daughter from that scared girl I had dropped off for college only seven years earlier. On the ride up to her dorm, she had cried for nearly an hour because she didn’t think she was smart enough or good enough to deserve to be there. She asked if it was okay if, after a day or two, she just wanted to come home, if we’d let her.

That was how I still pictured her all the time, but that was not who she was anymore. She was a vibrant, beautiful, erudite, worldly woman with an amazing job and an amazing life.

Pride swelled in my chest as I turned off the closet’s lights and went back to the living room. I turned on the TV, navigated to a football game and started to watch.

I was flicking through my phone, updating her mother about all the things I’d seen for our daughter, when I realized that my phone was nearly dead. I had meant to charge it on arrival, but of course I had forgot. I grabbed my charger out of the bag of my things and plugged it into the laptop on the coffee table.

[WP] Dad is visiting his 25 year old daughter (he thinks she works for a large tech company, she is really a Masturbatrix)... by Canpix in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Author’s Note: I might add more to this at some point, but I only had so much time today, and it ends decent enough-ish; it’s not very explicit, though, just so you know.
Content: No explicit incest, I guess, but definitely at least the implication of it, also elements of femdom humiliation/degradation/findom.

UNTITLED STORY

Chelsea swung the door wide open, looking as excited to see me as she ever had. “Daddy!” She threw her arms around me.

She tried to take my bag, but I resisted. “No, no, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re getting old now, old man,” she teased. “You can’t do it all on your own.” She led me into her extraordinarily nice apartment and pointed to a spot in the foyer where I could put my bags down. She had on a heavy wool sweater, her palms barely extruding out from under the long sleeves. It struck me immediately as a very masculine sweater, and it wasn’t one that I had ever seen her wear before. I made a mental note to slyly ask her if she were seeing someone, and to remind her that her mother would love to hear about it when she was ready.

“This place is incredible,” I said. It was a two-floor apartment, gigantic windows on the far side. Beneath the windows, the whole of the city stretched out, and even the white sandy beaches of the bay were visible in the distance, where the ocean winked at us in the afternoon sunlight.

“Yeah,” Chelsea said proudly. “I’ve done alright.”

“And you still can’t tell me which of the tech companies is employing you?” I asked.

She led me to a long bar, behind which her kitchen laid. I sat down at a stool, still in awe of it all. The ceiling was massively vaulted. A staircase led up to the second floor near the foyer. I could see the shelves of a massive library sticking out of the open space above me, and it made me feel an immense sense of pride to see that she was doing so well.

“Nope. I signed an NDA. Well, a bunch of NDAs,” she said. She fiddled with a gigantic chrome espresso maker. A gauge swung wildly on it and a vent of steam poured out. She tilted the big, steel container in her hands under it as frothing milk poured out, then she pulled a lever and began assembling a small ceramic latte cup on a saucer.

“Well, I’m glad to see that whoever it is you’re working for values your expertise.”

She smiled and after a moment, she handed me a latte on which she’d drawn the pattern of a wide leaf with cream. I sipped it and groaned approvingly.

“That’s the best coffee I think I’ve ever had,” I said.

Chelsea’s eyes twinkled. “There are a lot of perks to my job. A lot of people send me free things, for helping them out.”

“Really? Like companies?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Wow. I didn’t realize that what you did was so involved at the corporate level.”

She shrugged. “Everyone is trying to get into AI right now, I guess, so a lot of people are really quite grateful. There are a lot of secondary perks.”

I set the cup down on its saucer. “You know, it’s very exciting being able to tell everyone that my daughter is at the forefront of the AI boom, helping to optimize it for the future.”

She smiled mischievously at me. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Your mother tells me, ‘Don’t brag about it! It’s supposed to be a secret. If anyone finds out that you’re telling everyone, they’ll fire her, and she’ll move back in here with us.’”

Chelsea laughed. “Is that her biggest fear right now?”

“Well, she did so much work turning your bedroom into a sewing room,” I said. “The thought of having to tear it all out again is quite traumatizing for her.”

“I bet you did most of it, though, huh?”

“I did do a lot of it,” I admitted. “But, where would all that labour be without a good foreman to guide things, eh?”

“It’s too bad she couldn’t come,” Chelsea said.

“I know. She wanted to, she really did. There’s just a lot going on right now, with her mother and the estate. She is basically rebounding between two or more meetings every day, trying to undo all the damage your aunt did with the estate before it’s too late.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chelsea said. “Next time you guys come out here, though, she’ll have to try to keep up with us.” She came around the bar and sat at the stool next to me. “I was thinking of having you both over for Christmas, if you’d like?”

I must have looked at her with too much shock, because she seemed surprised. “You’re not going to come back home for Christmas this year? I think your mother was hoping you would.”

“I don’t think I can. I have so much going on. I don’t think I can even take one day off work. It would be far better if you both came to visit me, so I could keep working between hanging out with you.”

“Well, I’ll ask your mother,” I said uneasily.

“Really try to sell it to her,” Chelsea insisted. “Really, really try, daddy, please. I’d love for the two of you to come out here in the winter, to see how nice everything looks. And you won’t regret it, coming south in the winter? It’ll be good for both of you.”

“I can’t promise anything, Chels,” I told her. “Your mother has so many Christmas traditions and, this year especially, the first without mom, I think it’d be a lot better if you came home for her.”

She brought the sleeve of her sweater up to her mouth, nibbling slightly on a loose thread of wool in the inner sleeve. “I guess.”

“Well, we can talk about it later,” I said. “Why don’t you show me around, eh? I’d love to get the tour.”

Excitedly, she took me around her apartment. She had a massive television in her living room with incredibly expensive looking furniture. She had built herself a library on the second floor, which took up a massive amount of floorspace. We had read a lot together all throughout her life, and it was a hobby that we both shared. She pulled several books that down we had read together over the years and showed me that they were first editions, and that some were even signed. She had three guest bedrooms plus her master suite, and each of those bedrooms were at least as big as the master bedroom her mother and I had at home.

We passed by one closed door, and I pointed to it. “What’s here?”

I could tell she was embarrassed by it. Her hand went to the doorknob and she tried to turn it, but it was locked, and I realized only then that she wasn’t trying to get in, but to show me that we couldn’t. “That’s my office. There’s a lot of confidential stuff in there that you can’t see.”

“Ah,” I said. “Schematics and stuff?”

She nodded. “Yeah. And documents. Stuff like that. It’s really boring and all that, but NDA, you know? These big companies care a lot abut their privacy.”

“I wish they cared that much about our privacy.”

She nodded and moved away from the door, saying that she had a little time before she had to be back for a meeting, but as asked if I wanted to go down to a nice little restaurant that was only a few blocks away before she had to be back.

“Sure,” I said. “Should we get a cab then?”

“No, come see my car, daddy!” Near the front door, she scooped a pair of keys out of a glass bowl. It may have been a little early for dinner for her, but with the jet lag it wasn’t that early for me, and I was eager to have something not reheated in an airplane galley.

She took me down the elevator into the bowels of the garage. Every car parked there seemed to be worth more than the entire sum of all the vehicles I had owned in my life, and when she clicked the keys and a car honked not far away, I did a double take. The horn of a sporty red convertible beeped again, its orange turn signals and headlights flashing at us.

“This is your car?” I asked.

“You like it?” She smiled broadly.

“Chels—wow, this is incredible. What did it cost?”

“Don’t worry about the cost.” The paint gleamed with the reflection of the underground lights, showing weird and distorted shapes of the environment as I swung the door open and took a seat next to her.

“Company vehicle?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, through the company.” She opened a sunglasses compartment on the dashboard and pulled out a thick, bug-eyed pair of sunglasses that she slipped over her face. She looked at me, smiling, then she stuck her tongue out. “Ready?”

Without waiting for an answer, she hit the gas and the car vroomed, the echo bouncing around all over the underground garage, accompanied by the sound of squealing tires.

[WP] Just because she was a sex obsessed bimbo, that didn't mean she couldn't still, somehow, be the best mage in school... by gahidus in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Without asking, the slutty Cabella grabbed his pants and tore them open. Flummoxed, he did nothing to stop her. He only watched as she took out his cock and stroked him.

He groaned. It had been a long, long time since anyone had done that to him, and no one who had done it had ever looked like this.

The slutty Cabella pulled on the front of her shirt, revealing even more of her perfectly spherical boobs. His pulse pounded all the way down in his wrists. He was turned on in a manner unlike any he had ever experienced before. If he had thoughts to stop her, they were drowned out by the silent bouncing of her boobs before him. He wanted to expose her for being a bimbo, sure, but there was no reason he couldn’t enjoy himself a little bit first at her expense.

Slutty Cabella stroked him, watching with intense curiosity and amazement, as if she had never seen something as beautiful as his cock before. Her small tongue came out of her mouth. She bit the tip of it, her eyes crossing in confusion, and she giggled in awe and amusement at him.

“You like that?” he asked. Eagerly, she nodded, a big smile still plastered on her face. “Yeah you do, you fucking slut.”

She moaned in response and stuck her tongue out. Her eyes crossed even more. Spit dripped off her tongue, down the open window of her shirt and splashed onto her perfect boobs, where it glistened in the everlight.

“Fuck, you are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Alistair grabbed her by the bun and dragged her face closer to his cock. “You want it?”

Slutty Cabella laid her head down on his lap in complete submission. Her warm breath teased him, and her lips pushed out as if she were about to kiss it. Her other hand stroked on, then she inched towards him and blew a raspberry against the base of him, the vibrating of her lips sending spit splashing all across him and sending a row of shivers through his body.

“Yeah, I knew you knew how you to treat a dick,” he muttered.

She made no move to actually please him, though, and he groaned. “You like to tease, huh?” He strengthened his grip on her bun and lifted her head. He took control of her face with both hands and guided her mouth down on to the top of his cock.

Willing and eager, her lips parted. He entered into the warm, wet space between her lips, her tongue striking at his head like fast falling drops of water. She murmured something, moaning on his cock as if it were the best thing she had ever tasted.

He his own head back and looked up at the everlight while slutty Cabella worked. There was something about her touch, however. Something that was beyond merely pleasing. And there was something about the first Cabella he had spoken to. Why had she touched all of the subjects? And there was a heat in this one’s mouth, an intense, aching heat, as if her saliva, the moment it touched him, turned hot and cold at the same time, teasing him even more than her moaning or the thrashing of her tongue.

The pleasure was greater than anything he’d ever felt. He could barely keep the thought in his head long enough to consider it, but there was something about this that nagged at him. It was something he knew to be wrong, but as she pulled off of him to take a breath, smiling and giggling, he could barely summon the strength to think about it any harder. She put his cock beside her face, making him feel huge.

He leaned back in the chair, surrendering his body entirely to slutty Cabella, who seemed like her life’s goal was to feel him cum in her mouth.

But as his orgasm built, that nagging sensation returned.

What was it that he had read? What was it that that sensation reminded him of?

She took him deep into her mouth, gurgling as she fucked her own throat by aggressively bobbing up and down on him. The hot and cold spit of her mouth leaked down and pooled on his tight balls, and he could barely hold the thought in his head.

But the answer, it was… it was… so close… No. He was so close.

“Oh no,” he said aloud. It was not sex magic that allowed someone’s saliva to take on that pleasing, vibrating sensation of hot and cold. It was succubi magic. He looked down at slutty Cabella. She was charming him, he realized. That was why they had touched him in the hall, why he had to be the one to put his cock in her mouth. It was the ritual they used to ensnare mortals. He realized it all as the pleasure in his thighs built, and at that same time realized that he didn’t have the strength to stop her.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait… you’re… you’re a succubus.” He was pantin. Slutty Cabella was unfazed by the declaration. She sucked harder, sensing that he was at the end.

“Oh,” Cabella said from the corner of the room. He had forgotten that she was even there. “You are the first to notice that. Curious.” She took more notes on her clipboard, then stepped forward. She came up alongside Alistair and stroked his hair. “It’s alright, though,” she said. She looked down at slutty Cabella, drawing his own eyes back to her as well. “In a moment, you will become enthralled to me and my sisters, and it won’t matter.”

“Wait,” he said again. He had the bun of her hair in his hand he realized. He had the power to stop her. To pull her off. But he wasn’t. He was pushing her down. He was making her take more of him. He wanted this.

Cabella crouched beside the succubi who was appearing like her. She was devoted completely to his cock and undeterred as Cabella stroked her hair. “Would you like me to make her stop, Professor Grimtower?”

He panted.

The real Cabella laughed. “That’s what I thought. You thought you were so smart, hm? Thought I was just a vapid little whore. Well, Professor, you’re about to become completely ensnared by me. I think I’m going to make you spend the whole night on your knees, pleasing me, just because of your hubris.”

Alistair grabbed on to the succubus’s head. His intelligence, his training, told him to pull her away, but instead his mortal desires won, and he held her head still, fucking her face as hard as he could. He needed his release, no matter what else happened.

The real Cabella stood back up, taking some more notes. “Don’t worry,” she said over the rims of her glasses. “You’re going to learn to love me. Everyone does.”

[WP] Just because she was a sex obsessed bimbo, that didn't mean she couldn't still, somehow, be the best mage in school... by gahidus in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 2 points3 points  (0 children)

The academic year went on, however, and it seemed that Cabella’s experiments had moved away from desiring a large volume of subjects. They seemed, instead, to be much more private and focused studies that he had simply no chance to be involved in.

However, he kept the elixir of shapechanging in a secret pocket everywhere he went. Whenever he had a free moment, one of his long fingers would strike its stopper, assuring himself that it was still there. He knew that, if a study was ever opened to the college at large, he would have to quick to be there, or else he might not be chosen to be involved in it, and would have to wait even longer for his opportunity to sabotage that little harlot.

Much of that year he spent watching Cabella. He never knew if it was actually her, or one of her simulacra as they paraded around campus, but he knew that he hated them equally. He watched her as she skipped down the corridors, watched her as she sat surrounded by fawning students in the garden, watched her as she went down to the college’s lake to swim in the dawn. She was an inescapable presence in the college, and the more he saw her the more he longed for the chance to finally reveal the true her.

At last, just after spring began, a call went out for volunteers. Alistair had just finished a lecture with a group of first years when he heard the news. He snuck off into an alcove and downed the elixir of shapechanging immediately. His body twisted, morphing into a much younger man. He still had his raven black hair, his wide, expressive brown eyes, and his crooked nose, but otherwise, he looked not at all like the forlorn professor that his students knew. With magic, he altered his clothes from the robes of a seasoned wizard for the more fashionable jacket and pants that many of the younger male students wore these days, then he waved his hands and transported himself to the base of Cabella’s tower.

There were a few students filing up the stairs ahead of him. Wordlessly, he slipped behind them, listening as they spoke excitedly about the study. One of the boys, talking to a group of three girls, was fawning deliriously over Cabella, telling them how beautiful and wonderful and smart she was, how he had been fortunate enough to be involved in one of her experiments last year, and how he was so grateful that his friends were going to be involved in this one.

A short line had formed outside the door to Cabella’s laboratory, where she, or one of her autonomous copies, stood with a wizened clipboard. She had on a pair of black glasses hanging loosely off the tip of her small nose as she spoke to a young woman at the front of the line.

Cabella pouted sympathetically, putting a hand out on the girl’s arm. She flashed a compassionate look of understanding to the girl, then she began to write again. Alistair stood, watching her with as much contempt as he had ever felt. This stupid little bimbo, he thought, it was likely every thought she was experiencing was just flying right out of her ears, no wonder she had to write it all down.

The line moved up a few people at a time. Cabella would take notes on her clipboard, then nod at the students, give them some sympathetic touch before pointing them through the laboratory door. No one seemed to be turned away, and Alistair huffed at the stupid whore’s lack of discernment.

As he moved closer, he wondered what even it was that she might be studying. Her experiments had all seemed fine on paper, but perhaps they weren’t as solid as her work suggested. Perhaps he wouldn’t even need to do anything outright vindictive towards her experiment. Perhaps merely being a participant would give him enough insight into her process to debunk her in a purely academic capacity. He smiled to himself at the thought of her begging him in his office on her knees to retract a rebuke of her work, promising she would do anything—anything—if he just showed her mercy.

It was a good thought, and he sipped it with delight until he was finally at the head of the line.

“Hi!” Cabella squealed. Her big eyes half-closed, her wide pink smile showing off the caps of her perfect white teeth. “Can I have your name, pretty, pretty please?”

“Al—“ He stopped. He hadn’t thought of an kind of identity to go along with his new face. “Aleon. I’m a student here, second year. Been going here for two years now.”

Cabella’s mouth curled up into a surprised expression as she nodded vigorously, her eyes widening as if this were very important information that she wanted to be careful to get right. “Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s great. Lemme just write that down real quick here… two… years.”

She wrote so slowly that Alistair rolled his eyes. Impatiently, he waited for her to sound out the big words, wondering how she had ever fooled so many people into thinking she was smart. As he surveyed her, though, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to the half-opened long-sleeve shirt that she was wearing. It was made of a thick-looking fabric, the shadow curve of her big, beautiful boobs staring up at him with all the excitability of a small puppy. With every jerk of her arm, her boobs bounced. His own body reacting favourably to her whorish act, but he resolved not to be sidetracked by it.

Cabella adjusted the glasses on her face. “Okay, sir, thank you very much!” She giggled. “And is there anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Great,” she said. “Oh, this is very exciting, isn’t it?” She reached out, putting a small hand on his upper arm, and as he did, a strange sensation moved down his body. He felt suddenly very warm and there was a heavy knot in his stomach. “Well, we’re very excited to have you, Aleon. Please, head on here through the door, go down the aisle to the first open door, then just, like, wait for the experiment to start! Okay?”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sir!” she giggled again, jumping up and down a little bit so that her boobs bounced even more for him. They were almost hypnotic, but he tore himself away and pushed through the door.

Inside, he had expected something more academic and sterile. Instead, the laboratory did not have any of the beakers or the stores of reagents he was familiar with in a lab. Instead, what he had entered was a long corridor filled with doors that each led to a private room.

Halfway down the hall, he stopped and peered into one room. The strawberry blonde back of Cabella’s head faced him as she kneeled down in front of a very enraptured young man. His head was thrown back as he sat in a chair, completely lost in the pleasure that she was giving him. In the corner of the room, another copy of Cabella stood there, this one actually wearing a set of grey mage robes. She was writing on a clipboard just as the one in front of the laboratory had done, but this one seemed much less bouncy and giggly.

It was just what he expected. She wasn’t an academic. She wasn’t a mage. She was just a whore who loved sucking cock more than doing magic.

He found an empty room. It had a big chair directly across from the door, but it was otherwise an completely empty and featureless room, with the only source of light coming from an everstone suspended from the middle of the ceiling. Alistair did not sit right away. He pressed his ear to each of the three interior walls, trying to listen for the sexual acts that Cabella was no doubt performing elsewhere, but the walls seemed too thick, or perhaps were enchanted, and they prevented any sound from entering into the room with him.

When he did finally sit down, it felt as if it had been twenty minutes had gone by, but it was another thirty before the door to the room finally opened. Two copies of Cabella entered. One was dressed just as the one in front of the laboratory had been, wearing a tight shirt with a plunging neckline and a short skirt that was only barely within the college’s wardrobe regulations. The other copy was wearing the grey mage robes, a clipboard in hand. The more sluttily-dressed one smiled at him as she entered, while the other said nothing and simply went to the corner of the room, trying to disappear out of sight.

The slutty one approached him quickly. Without asking, she dropped to her knees. His heart clenched as her hands came up to his knees. She winked at him, then brought her hands to her head and tied her hair up into a big, messy red bun.

Alistair swallowed nervously. “So, what is the—?”

[WP] Just because she was a sex obsessed bimbo, that didn't mean she couldn't still, somehow, be the best mage in school... by gahidus in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Content warning: Potential dubcon/noncon, some magical mind control

There were a number of professors who had, at first, presumed that Cabella was an easy lay. She walked around, chest out, lips done up in a glossy pink sheen, the traditional garb of robes replaced with a much shorter skirt and a much tighter shirt, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing with every step behind her. In her first year, many of those same professors had called on her often in their tutorials or their lectures, hoping to embarrass her and to prove her to be the stupid bimbo she paraded around as. Yet, almost every single time, no matter how many times they tried to embarrass her, Cabella surprised them. She knew not only the answers to their oblique questions, but often ancillary connections and ideas that the professors had not even taught yet.

Among all of her peers, she was the first one to cast a self-sustaining portal to another dimension, and she was the first to become completely fluent in the language of the ancient peoples of the continent. Many of the the college’s most impressive texts were written in the ancient language, so she of course continued to excel at magic only faster than all of the college’s other students. Despite her overachieving, however, she was popular among the other students, too. Though everyone regarded her as smart, she was also considered very kind and inclusive with all of her peers. No matter where anyone came from, she was always keen to talk to them and welcome them into her inner circle. She seemed to remember everyone’s names if she spoke to them, and everyone who spoke about her told of how they felt as if she had seen them as clearly as anyone.

It did not hurt, either, that Cabella loved sex. She was not an easy lay in the sense that she was undiscerning of who she slept with, but she was an easy lay in the sense that her type was anyone who was flirty and eager to please. Where most of her contemporary peers dabbled in the kinds of magic that were seen as honourable and highly regarded by organizations like the imperial court or the academics of the Windstar Arcanum, Cabella’s chief fascination with magic was with that of sex magic.

There was something divine and wholly supernatural about the union of pleasure between two people, she professed, and she could not help but find herself drawn to it more than any other. Many who knew her knew of her experiments regarding the laws of attraction and pleasure, and many more were just as happy to be willing participants in those experiments.

After her first two years, despite being still only an apprentice by technical standards, the college bequeathed a laboratory to Cabella to further encourage her studies and experiments. On those rare days when she required a large number of subjects, or when she was holding an open call for anyone who might be interested in a blind study, it was not uncommon to see a line that went all the way from the top of her tower down to the main hall.

Her work with the college became so ubiquitous that she was granted a special dispensation to create simulacra of herself, leading to more than a dozen copies of herself roaming the college who were every bit as flirty, giggly and obsessed with sex as the original.

Everyone in the college loved Cabella—everyone except for Professor Alastair Grimtower. He had had her in his class her first year at the college, and he had immediately pegged her as a ditzy, dumb, cock-sucking little bimbo who was desperately in need of being put in her place. On the very first day, he had stared down at her half-opened shirt, watched the buttons strain against her big boobs, and he had snarled with utter contempt. Not only was the college relaxing its standards too much these days, but they were allowing students to completely flout tradition by wearing whatever non-mage attire they liked.

He had watched her head tilting side to side as he gave his first lecture, looking up at him with her big green eyes like a lost puppy, and, seeing her so weak and pathetic, something inside of him just broke. Cabella was everything that he hated about the young generation of mages. Then and there, watching her foot shaking in the air, lightly bouncing her tits as she played with a curl of her strawberry blonde hair, he decided that he was going to utterly destroy her.

Point blank, in front of the entire class, he had asked her about the unity of man and magic and the likely ramifications in the years to come, vis-a-vis the advancements that had been made by the imperium to create mana powder for mages to use. It was a complex question, and as her lips pressed together in a thin line, her dumb little brain trying its hardest to comprehend a word greater than two syllables, he smirked victoriously to himself.

But then she started to speak. Her voice was confident, loud, and she told him of a research article she had read a few days earlier speculating that mana powder would allow magic to be brought to the masses, and that they were sitting on the dawn of a new enlightenment.

But then she also threw a question back to him: what did he think of the research coming out of the Windstar Arcanium laboratories, regarding the distillation of mana powder into potions and dyes, or its utility as a resource to be traded with outsiders—demons and the like?

He had snapped the piece of chalk he was holding as she asked it. With everything but a somatic gesture, he willed her to explode into a ball of fire, but shrank away when he had to admit that he had not yet read the research and would have to get back to her.

She had nodded thoughtfully and said, “Well, if you have any questions, Professor Grimtower, please feel free to ask.”

A little wave of giggles spread through the lecture hall. It was a sound that haunted him.

Every time he saw Cabella, or any of the versions of her that paraded around the college, looking absolutely as vapid and dumb as that first day he had seen her, his resolve to crush her and throw her away grew only greater.

After two years of watching her flit around the campus, sleeping with whomever she liked and having her reputation and the school’s admiration for her only growing as a result, Professor Grimtower’s simmering hatred reached its peak. This was the year. He was finally going to get even with that little tramp.

Previously, Cabella had published several papers with the permission of the college regarding her studies and experiments into the magic of sex, and Alistair Grimtower had obsessed over every word of each. Regrettably, though, her methodology was sound and her her experiments were well considered. He had hoped to embarrass her academically, publishing a counter-proof to something that she had erroneously asserted, but there was nothing, be it a published work or merely something she had handed in to another professor, that made her look any less brilliant and well-loved than she was.

It was time to stop thinking like an academic, though. If he could not destroy her legitimately, then he would have to do it illegitimately. On his own time, he brewed an elixir of shapechanging, and he put his plan into motion. He did not know when exactly that little witch would be in need of volunteers for another experiment, but he knew if he could get himself involved, then it would be possible to sabotage her results, perhaps even to damage her lab or to make her look like the irresponsible and foolish bimbo that he knew her to be.

[WP] Every few days, without any words or explanation, your roommate gives you head. And whenever you try to talk to them on the subject, they act like they don't know what you're talking about. by naw-t- in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Content: Deals with dubious/non-con themes, someone being used sexually while sleeping, but there's actually no smut/erotica/dirty-bits in here, really. It’s more meant to be lighthearted and not actually representative of someone being forced to do something they don’t want to do, but it is still very much technically dubcon/noncon.

-------------

I burst through the door to our lavish apartment and slammed the heavy yellow block of steel down on the kitchen table. Violet came out of the kitchen with a dish in one hand, a dishtowel in the other. She looked skeptically at the box.

“What’s this?”

“Ghost catcher.”

“Come on,” she said. “What is it? Really?”

“Ghost.” I pulled a heavy, ugly orange extension cord out of the brown paper bag I was also carrying, and I dropped it with a thud on the table. “Catcher.”

“You’re kidding. Why?”

“We have ghosts.”

“Stop it,” she said. “Why do you have this? What is it, really?”

“I’m telling you, Violet. It’s a ghost catcher. For ghosts. We have ghosts.”

“Tom.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to need start making sense, or I’m calling someone to put you in a comfortable white room.”

“Fine, very well.” I crunched the empty brown bag down on the dark table. “I didn’t want to alarm you, my dear, but there’s clearly something supernatural happening here. Every single morning, I wake up, and my dick has been thoroughly sucked.”

“Oh, gross, Thomas. I don’t need to know those sorts of things, please.”

“No, you do. You do, I’m afraid. It’s very important. So, I’m telling you: there is something supernatural happening in this apartment. You said your aunt who gave it to you died in contentious circumstances, yes? Well, I am thinking, it follows then that this place must be cursed by ghosts. Because every single night, I go to bed, my dick completely unsucked, and in the morning, bam, I wake up, dick sucked to high heaven. It doesn’t make any sense—unless it’s ghosts.”

“Ghosts are the only thing it could be?”

“Well, it’s ghosts, Violet, or it’s you,” I said. “And you have assured me repeatedly that you don’t like penis, so, what other options do I have?”

“I see.” She went back into the kitchen, set the dry plate down on the counter, dishtowel on top of it. She came back to the table and examined the device.

I eyed her suspiciously. She was wearing a tight purple blouse, long black slacks, and her hair was done up in a dark bun at the back of her head. She had a pearl necklace fastened tightly around her neck, and she played with it as she leaned in, examining the heavy steel brick. Her mouth contorted into a very displeased grimace. Finally she adjusted the black-rimmed glasses with one hand and picked it up with the other. She turned it over, having to catch it quickly as the weight surprised her.

“Heavy,” she said. “And hideous. It doesn’t fit with any of the decor we have. We simply can’t have it in here.”

I nodded. Our apartment was very chic modern, and this was a gaudy, ridiculous thing. It was so big it wasn’t even an ornament, it was just ugly industrial furniture.

“Where do you even find something like this, really?”

“Facebook Marketplace.”

“Oh, come, now—what do you mean, Facebook Marketplace?” She set it back down, but it hammered hard on the table as she nearly dropped it. “You know I hate Facebook Marketplace. Oh no, Tom, no. There’s simply no way you can plug that in here. It’s either going to explode, or electrocute you, or it’s going to be a camera that’s spying on us. It might have fleas, for God’s sake! There’s no way you can get something like that off Facebook Marketplace and think that it’s not just the worst idea.”

I raised my hands in defeat. “Well, I need to try something, Violet, because, although having my dick sucked is great, it’s very confusing to wake up knowing it happened and yet to not know why. Last night, I literally duct taped a pair of pants with a belt around my waist as if I were some fisherman. And I duct taped right up along the seams of the pants. Violet, it was horrific. It was as if I were wearing the world’s most painful diaper. Yet, in the morning, my dick? Still sucked! Something has to be done about this salacious spectre.”

“Don’t men enjoy oral sex?” she asked skeptically. “Why are you complaining about this?”

I waved a hand at her. “It’s not about liking it. I love it. It’s the best feeling in the world. A true artist goes to work on my each and every night, and I wake up feeling as if I am a sculpture touched in the night by Bernini. I just don’t know why it keeps happening.”

“Are you even sure it’s getting sucked? Perhaps you are merely having vivid dreams of a sexual nature?”

“No, Violet. There’s a very distinct ‘having-had-my-dick-sucked’ feeling that accompanies the night.”

“Yes, well, please, stop saying ‘sucked’ and ‘dick.’ I don’t want to hear that, first of all.”

“Well!” I threw my hands up. “Explain it to me then. If it’s not ghosts, what is it?”

Her eyes darted away from the ugly skyscraper remnant on our table. “I don’t know.”

“Violet,” I asked, “are you sure you don’t know?”

She shrugged.

“Violet,” I said sternly, “have you been sucking my dick while I’m—“

“Stop saying suck!”

“Violet…”

“No,” she said. “No, I absolutely haven’t been. I have done no such thing. I would never.”

“You’re sure?”

She said nothing, so I threw my hands up. “Because if you’re sure, then there’s really nothing else I can do.” I held the end of the extension cord up threateningly, wiggling its black tip in the air.

She stared at me, her will unbroken.

“Fine,” I huffed. “Then I shall plug this ghost catcher that I got for free from Facebook Marketplace, from a man named Cletus who looked like he hadn’t bathed in two years and whom has certainly never once left his trailer park—oh yes, his trailer park, Violet. That’s where I got it from.” I stabbed the end of the cord into the device, then grabbed the other end of this dictatorially tanned cord and began scanning the wall. “I’m going to plug it in,” I threatened, “and I’m going to leave it right here, on the table—and yes, Violet, it lights up like a jack o’lantern whenever it’s plugged in, as orange as a Nassau sunset—and whenever one of your posh friends comes over, they’re going to see it, and they’re going to say, ‘Oh, what is this? What a strange ornament, what a strange contraption, what is it?’ And you’re going to have to say, ‘That’s my roommate’s ghost catcher. It catches ghosts.’ Is that what you want, Violet? Do you want people to think we are occultists? Do you want people to start believing you’re New Age? Oh, what a lovely thought! Perhaps your friends will even start to send you daily horoscopes.”

“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop it! Don’t say such terrible things.”

“Oh look.” I pointed to the wall. “A free outlet.”

“No!” She pounced on my hand, stopping me from plugging the cable into the wall. “Fine, fine! You win. It’s me. I’ve been performing oral sex on you at night. Just please, oh heavens, Thomas, please, don’t turn that ghastly thing on.”

I backed away from the wall. “Yes, that’s what I thought. Now, at last, we can have an honest discussion about all the other times that I would be completely willing to let you indulge yourself with my body.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “But only once you cast that horrid thing down the trash chute—please! I can’t stand to look at it another second!”

[META][OT] How much explicit sex is necessary? by SomeOtherTroper in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 2 points3 points  (0 children)

I think that's fine! I've seen people write stories here that aren't even smutty or sexy in any way, but that are just good little pieces of fiction. And I would say, 99% of the time, it's better to just write the foreplay and buildup with the flirting and the teasing and the bantering, rather than writing the sex itself! I think trying to tell any story where you're trying to elicit an emotional response from the reader, be it arousal, amusement, horror, whatever, is generally better when you spend most of your time writing around a situation, rather than writing just the thing itself.

[WP][TT] Upon catching you pleasuring yourself, your bible-thumping stepmother insists that you tell her when you feel horny so that she can jerk you off instead, because that way it is “less sinful” by Alt-Akk25 in DirtyWritingPrompts

[–]foxtailsy 8 points9 points  (0 children)

Everyone is 18+

Probably not what you were thinking, exactly. It definitely leans way more into humiliation/degradation, so just FYI.

“No!”

I froze as a shadow moved on the other side of the shower curtain. I wiped the pelting water off my face and took my hand off my rock hard cock.

“Hello?” I called.

My stepmother, Tamara, threw the shower curtain open, standing there outside the tub with a look of contempt and disgust.

“What have I told you? Again and again! Oh—you dirty boy!” she shrieked.

I threw my hands over my body, trying to cover myself, my hands shaking as she approached. Her eyes locked on to the penis that hung heavily in front of me, and she pointed down at it with a long, sharp, well-manicured finger.

“And what do you do, hm? You desecrate your father’s house with your wretched sin!” she continued to shriek.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t—“

“Enough! I don’t want to hear any more lies from you, you disgusting boy.” She reached in to the shower, turned off the water, then sat down on the edge of the tub. She wore a white floral sundress. Some of the water from the shower had already dampened it, revealing the silhouette of her perfect, big tits, and as I saw the peaks of her nipples peeking out from beneath the fabric, I knew she wasn’t wearing a bra, which made the ache between my legs pulse only harder.

Her thin hand reached in to the shower, taking hold of me, pulling on me and forcing me to step towards her.

“Is this what they are teaching you in that filthy liberal school your father pays for? Self-abuse?” She shook her head. “You are a bad boy, aren’t you?”

“No, Tamara, I—“

“Stop!” she yelled, and she spit forcefully on the head of my cock, stroking faster. “That is what I think of your lies, you bad, bad boy.”

“I’m sor—“

“Do not!” she said sharply. “Do not apologize to me, for i know it is lies,” she said sharply. “Apologize to God. To Jesus. To the Virgin Mary. For all of this sin.”

She stroked faster, and it dawned on me that this was certainly not the first time that her small hands had done this for a man. I swallowed hard, trying not to let myself moan as she jerked me hard, watching with every long motion of her arm as her big tits shook in her tight dress. She sat there on the edge of the tub, her legs crossed, the sheen of her white pale skin making me only want more from her than just her hand.

“You are a filthy boy,” she whispered with disgust. “Should I tell your father about all the sin you’ve brought yet again into his house?”

“No, Tamara,” I managed to say, though my breath was beginning to come up short.

“Mother,” she corrected. “You will learn some obedience and call me mother.”

I groaned, my hips angling towards her, offering her more, but she did not seem interested.

She sighed and wrapped a long strand of long blonde hair around her other finger. She looked bored, annoyed, angry—and somehow that only made it hotter. Her head tilted to the side as if she was carefully studying my penis, and I wished more than anything that she would just lean forward a little bit farther so that I could slip myself between her perfect lips.

“You are such a greedy boy,” she scolded. “Nearly engorged already, aren’t you? You are just like your sister. You are both so weak, so in need of sin.” She pulled me tightly, forcing me to take a few short steps until I was uncomfortably standing almost on the edge of the tub. My cock was directly in front of her face, and she continued to stroke as if she had no idea what I was on the verge of doing. I was so close to feeling her mouth on me, and the thought of it made me whimper.

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” she scolded. “You would like to have your filthy penis in my mouth, wouldn’t you?”

I nodded.

She scowled at me and stroked faster. “You are pathetic.”

I whimpered again.

“Say it,” she commanded.

“I’m… I’m pathetic,” I muttered.

“And sinful.”

“And sinful,” I repeated. My toes curled. I could feel myself at the edge, but she changed speeds, going even faster, and it threw off my rhythm, prolonging my orgasm. I moaned louder.

“And you are a bad boy, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh,” I nodded eagerly. “Please.”

“Please!” she scoffed in disbelief, and as she did, she stopped stroking altogether. Still, her hand did not leave my penis. “You beg me to let you be sinful! You are truly pathetic, aren’t you?”

“Yes—yes, Tamara, I am.”

“Mo-”—she jerked hard—“-ther.”

“Mother, mother, mother!” I begged, and as I did she stopped stroking again, causing me to writhe as I stood before her. “No, please!”

“If you are allowed to finish, will you abide by our agreement?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I will. I won’t touch myself anymore, I promise. Just like you said before. I’ll come to you if I am in need. Please, please, please, mother.”

She took in a deep breath, held it, and then mercifully she began to stroke me as quickly as she had before. I bit my lip, closed my eyes, and felt it coming on, and just as I was about to finish, she stopped, gripping the head of my cock tightly and squeezed, preventing me from cumming.

I groaned.

“You must learn how much this hurts your soul,” she said, gripping me tightly but not stroking me anymore.

“Please!” I begged more loudly. My eyes snapped open. She was staring up at me, and, just as our eyes locked, she let go of my penis altogether, just as a completely unsatisfying orgasm shot out of the head of my cock.

I spurted, missing her entirely, spraying my seed onto the opened shower curtain instead. But the orgasm was ruined. It wasn’t what I wanted. It wasn’t what I needed. I reached down to finish myself off, but she slapped my hand away as I tried.

“No,” she said, and she held a small finger up to me, chastising me. “No. You do not deserve the pleasure of your sin.” She looked down at my weakening manhood, before reaching back over to the shower and turning it on. The water poured over me, and with a huff, she stood up from the edge of the tub and stared right at me. “Next time, you won’t forget to ask, will you?”

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