Beg Off [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-12-2019
The King contemplated the strip of fabric she was offering. He wrapped it around his fingers as she spoke, then wrapped one end of it around her wrist. He tied a lazy knot, then did the same with her other wrist. It was more of something to do with his hands than it was an actual attempt at restraining her.
"No," he said finally. He flicked at the impromptu wrist restraint. "I won't use this," he clarified. "You will behave, or else you won't." He pulled them loose again with a tug, a poor party trick. The idea of pulling her around on a leash didn't offend him, necessarily, but he wouldn't be doing it. No more than he'd muzzle her, or leave her shackled alone to her wall.
Shackled to a wall with company was fine.
"I haven't decided yet if I want to go back," he said. The whole point of this outing every year was a vaguely anthropological one. Observation, a show, vicarious enjoyment. He'd brought her along believing that it would be more fun this way. Now, seeing the gulf between how they experienced the event, how little she understood the point, it felt worse than simply going alone. She'd been enjoying it wrong. Like listening to someone clap out of rhythm, or laugh at the parts that weren't jokes.
Her face did all sorts of interesting things as she thought of something she didn't want to tell him, and he turned it towards him to see it better.
"I have created many orphans," he said, with neither regret nor remorse. "I am a dragon." This felt like obvious cause and effect. "I remember the day. I ate many who offered me things that were not theirs." It was as close as he came to tactful phrasing. "It's how the hatchling problem started. It wasn't until later that we realized we would need to tell them to bring in all the strays. We hadn't realized there would be so many… off the books." Not all of them so little, either. "You would be like Cara, if we'd known," he said thoughtfully. "Do you know Cara? No, of course you don't. She's in the kitchen, now. She was a horrible child and now she's a horrible woman. She is my eldest, the first of my nest." He was very proud of her, of course.
The idea that Ren was almost of his nest was troubling, to say the least.
"Smart," he said with a nod. "They will disappoint you well enough on their own. Better not to give them additional opportunities." He paused. "Especially people you like," he repeated, slowly and with careful enunciation.
Gareth had the sense to wait in the water until after Bridget had dried herself off. Then he came up out of the water, wringing out his hair and rubbing his hands over his arms. He'd left a sweater around here, somewhere. Declan had the look of a wet cat, his shirt gone translucent and clingy.
Gareth cackled. "Declan-Directly-To-The-Ground," he repeated.
"Don't you start," Declan complained.
"It works on so many levels!"
"You wish," Declan said half-heartedly, undone when Gareth responded with a cocky grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. Then Bridget started talking. "Wait, what?" he said, but she'd already taken off, and so he bolted after her.
Gareth just kept walking. He'd already proven he was faster than Declan—he'd caught him, after all—but it didn't seem fair to make the poor kid haul a werewolf around.
(Declan was 68 years old.)
"No," he said finally. He flicked at the impromptu wrist restraint. "I won't use this," he clarified. "You will behave, or else you won't." He pulled them loose again with a tug, a poor party trick. The idea of pulling her around on a leash didn't offend him, necessarily, but he wouldn't be doing it. No more than he'd muzzle her, or leave her shackled alone to her wall.
Shackled to a wall with company was fine.
"I haven't decided yet if I want to go back," he said. The whole point of this outing every year was a vaguely anthropological one. Observation, a show, vicarious enjoyment. He'd brought her along believing that it would be more fun this way. Now, seeing the gulf between how they experienced the event, how little she understood the point, it felt worse than simply going alone. She'd been enjoying it wrong. Like listening to someone clap out of rhythm, or laugh at the parts that weren't jokes.
Her face did all sorts of interesting things as she thought of something she didn't want to tell him, and he turned it towards him to see it better.
"I have created many orphans," he said, with neither regret nor remorse. "I am a dragon." This felt like obvious cause and effect. "I remember the day. I ate many who offered me things that were not theirs." It was as close as he came to tactful phrasing. "It's how the hatchling problem started. It wasn't until later that we realized we would need to tell them to bring in all the strays. We hadn't realized there would be so many… off the books." Not all of them so little, either. "You would be like Cara, if we'd known," he said thoughtfully. "Do you know Cara? No, of course you don't. She's in the kitchen, now. She was a horrible child and now she's a horrible woman. She is my eldest, the first of my nest." He was very proud of her, of course.
The idea that Ren was almost of his nest was troubling, to say the least.
"Smart," he said with a nod. "They will disappoint you well enough on their own. Better not to give them additional opportunities." He paused. "Especially people you like," he repeated, slowly and with careful enunciation.
Gareth had the sense to wait in the water until after Bridget had dried herself off. Then he came up out of the water, wringing out his hair and rubbing his hands over his arms. He'd left a sweater around here, somewhere. Declan had the look of a wet cat, his shirt gone translucent and clingy.Gareth cackled. "Declan-Directly-To-The-Ground," he repeated.
"Don't you start," Declan complained.
"It works on so many levels!"
"You wish," Declan said half-heartedly, undone when Gareth responded with a cocky grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. Then Bridget started talking. "Wait, what?" he said, but she'd already taken off, and so he bolted after her.
Gareth just kept walking. He'd already proven he was faster than Declan—he'd caught him, after all—but it didn't seem fair to make the poor kid haul a werewolf around.
(Declan was 68 years old.)
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-12-2019
The King might not have been trying to restrain her, but it had an effect on her like he was. Hot and cold and fear and whatever that thing she had aimed at him that wasn't fear, but sat nestled next to it. "I'll behave," she promised him. For once, she meant it. She wouldn't be making the same mistake twice in one night at the very least. All the rest could wait. He had a way of leaving her very confused and in bad need of time to process.
She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to rub the emotions off of it and the red out of it. It very almost sounded like he was sorry. It almost sounded alarmingly close to regret. Not regret, obviously, because he didn't regret doing it, but... It was a lot. A lot more than she had expected, and if he didn't stop, she was going to cry.
"I'm not sayin' he didn't deserve it," she said pointedly. "I dunno if you remember him. The Duke of Ark? He owned the lands up around and includin' the Great Lake." She was from around there, as far as she knew. All her earliest memories were from around there, anyway. "If y'remember him, y'might remember he was a real piece o' work." She hadn't known it at the time, obviously. No one thought ill of the people who sheltered them, clothed them, fed them. ...Well, except her, but she was talented at that, and also old enough to know better now. "There's a reason he never signed no fuckin' adoption papers. He never meant to. He's not really my dad."
She rubbed her face again, both hands. "I realized. When I saw all the kids in th' fuckin' castle. I don't wanna think about it." She very, very, very strongly didn't. She could see a spiral of madness that way, if she even acknowledged the way things could have been different. "I don't wanna think about it, and I don't want you t'think about it. Those 'ifs' will drive me insane." If he was going to think anything at all about it, she'd prefer he think of the circumstances she did have, and how they turned her into what she was now, for better or worse. "Besides," she added dryly. "You woulda fuckin' hated havin' me around the castle. Imagine all the rats. That shit's why I'm designin' you an orphanage, anyway."
She blinked at him in surprise. He was just full of them tonight, between getting angry about her crush on Gareth to not rubbing her father's death in her face, and now this. "Yer the first person who's fuckin' understood that. I really dunno what that says about me." Prooooobably nothing good, but it still felt nice to be understood.
She narrowed her eyes a bit at his final enunciation, wondering if she was catching his implications correctly. A flush grew on her cheeks regardless, as if volunteering to confirm his suspicions. "Don't rub it in," she grumbled. "We both know I'm an idiot."
Pleased that she'd created what would hopefully become a permanent nickname for Declan(-Directly-To-The-Ground), she bolted off. Declan-Directly-To-The-Ground, to his credit, at least ran. Once she realized Gareth wasn't even trying, she slowed down a bit. She didn't need to go full-tilt against Declan, even if he was an elf. She made 'fleet of foot' look embarrassing. Werewolf perks, and also what happened when you ran every single day for twenty-five years. She still beat him to the stall by a very good measure, despite swinging by Clint's to grab some moonshine without asking, and hung off him as they waited for Gareth to arrive.
"He makes me look mean when he's this nice," she complained to Declan. She considered this. "But I guess I am meaner than him. It's just not that hard. I'm not even that heavy, y'know." She sighed.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-22-2019
"Hmm." He considered her description. "I may recall the one." He did not. They'd all looked the same to him, then and in his memories. They were just a vague blur of obnoxious pink men. Who had offered him what? He didn't know. It had been thirteen years ago, and he'd long since given their titles away to prettier prospects.
He didn't argue with her, because there was no point digging through that rabbithole.
"I understand many things," he agreed. Still, he thought it over. "If your worry is not caring," he said, "Gareth cares about everything. That is not how he will disappoint you." Which didn't mean he wouldn't. Anyone could be disappointing, if one's desires were unrealistic enough.
He twisted his wrist to hold her jaw, her chin in his palm and his thumb stroking her jawline. "A stupid girl," he agreed. "There is a symmetry of thought between a hunter and their target. The fish would like the fisherman, if they could speak."
"Everybody's meaner'n Gareth," Declan mumbled. He stole a swig of Bridget's moonshine before grabbing a hot cider, clutching the hot mug with both hands to try and absorb its warmth. "Shame," he added, because it was an objective fact that Gareth was hottest when he was being kind of an asshole.
Like when he was chasing someone to hurl them bodily in a body of water.
"Oh noooo," Gareth said once he was close enough. "You beat me. Whatever shall I do."
He didn't argue with her, because there was no point digging through that rabbithole.
"I understand many things," he agreed. Still, he thought it over. "If your worry is not caring," he said, "Gareth cares about everything. That is not how he will disappoint you." Which didn't mean he wouldn't. Anyone could be disappointing, if one's desires were unrealistic enough.
He twisted his wrist to hold her jaw, her chin in his palm and his thumb stroking her jawline. "A stupid girl," he agreed. "There is a symmetry of thought between a hunter and their target. The fish would like the fisherman, if they could speak."
"Everybody's meaner'n Gareth," Declan mumbled. He stole a swig of Bridget's moonshine before grabbing a hot cider, clutching the hot mug with both hands to try and absorb its warmth. "Shame," he added, because it was an objective fact that Gareth was hottest when he was being kind of an asshole.Like when he was chasing someone to hurl them bodily in a body of water.
"Oh noooo," Gareth said once he was close enough. "You beat me. Whatever shall I do."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-22-2019
Ren privately disagreed with the King, but she knew better by now than to argue it with him. Perhaps they simply had differing definitions of 'care.' In her point of view, Gareth didn't care about most of what she said, about the injustice of her trial, about what was and wasn't fair, about what she wanted and what she deserved. By the King's standards, maybe he did. And maybe he'd care the same way about all the other secrets she was keeping. Just enough to hear her out and then just enough to justify it. She wouldn't be taking that risk. The King was right. She would just be disappointed. Fortunately or unfortunately, the King was also there to distract her from that very depressing line of thought. He gripped her jaw, not the way she was used to people grabbing at her face, but roughly, palm forward. It emphasized the size of his hand versus the scale of her, made her notice again how he seemed to loom larger than life, larger than even before. It brought her sharp attention not only to the size of him, but the strength, and the shifting shadows of his wings behind him. Her stomach twisted and her heart pounded.
"That's horrifyin'," she shivered, because she couldn't really argue with being stupid, particularly not right now, with it being so well-demonstrated. And maybe it was the stupidity in her, but she wanted a distraction. She wanted something so terrifying and so much that it would force every thought of Gareth and his stupid perfect life and stupid perfect laugh out of her head, that would make her forget she ever mentioned her would-be father. And if she was lucky, maybe it would improve the King's mood. It had worked once before.
"I'll tell ya another secret. Two fer one special," she said. Her body was shaking slightly, almost trembling, the after effects of so much strain and so much adrenaline. "I keep havin' dreams. About you. Nightmares, I think. They seem like they'd be nightmares, but..." But when she woke up, sometimes... She swallowed. A pounding heart could be attributed to fear. A certain level of moisture could be attributed to sweat. That's what she told herself. She was such a shit liar that even she didn't buy it. "They go a lot like this, actually, except this is normally th' part where I wake up."
Bridget, who'd never had the dubious pleasure of enjoying Gareth at his most dickish, didn't really understand what Declan meant by that. Maybe he meant that everyone should be as nice as Gareth was? That was fair. The world would probably be a kinder place, or something, but Bree was of the opinion it also probably would have been kind of boring. She let him get away with having some of her moonshine, because it was all free anyway and she probably owed him that much for getting him tossed in the river. He didn't even have as much fur as Gareth.
"You're awful," she complained at Gareth as he approached, still lounging against Declan. "You would've carried me no matter what, anyway." She sighed, finally letting the wet elf go to grab her own cider. She downed half, filled it back up with moonshine, and then downed the rest, head buzzing pleasantly. "Pick me up," she ordered petulantly, holding her arms out like a small child might when demanding to be lifted. It was a somewhat comical sight on a woman of her height and build. "And then pick poor Directly-to-the-Ground up so he can warm up and pretend it was your body heat that did it instead of the force of his own boner."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-22-2019
"Life is horrifying," the King agreed.
He smiled, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek and admiring the way she trembled. "Of course you do," he said, pleased. "I know prey when I smell it. What a relief it must be to find something worth fearing, when left to your own devices you fear such harmless things as answers."
The King unhooked his cloak, pulling it from his shoulders and folding it before tucking it underneath her head. He stretched his wings briefly to fix the way his shirt fell over his back, torn as it was. He rearranged his legs, put his weight onto knees that straddled her waist. He took her hand, guided it between his legs—then further, between her own.
"And what do you think would happen if you didn't?" he wondered. "What do your waking dreams show you, that the sleeping ones do not?" He bent back over her, letting his hand rest on her neck as he nuzzled at her ear. "You do think about it, don't you?" he murmured. "I'm sure you try not to. I wonder what it is you pretend you don't want."
Gareth grabbed a hot cider, and downed it all in one go to send a burst of heat right into him. Then he laughed as Declan started to turn beet-red.
"Auntie," Declan snapped.
"Aww, Cuz," Gareth teased. "You that eager to get to the ground again? Direct is right."
"Watch it," Declan warned, pointing at him. "I'm your elder. I'll kick your mmph—"
He was interrupted by an enormous red hand covering his entire face before pushing him over. Gareth laughed again as Declan tipped backward, his legs still unsteady, his cider falling into the grass.
"My hand's bigger than your whole head," Gareth pointed out.
"Asshole," Declan said.
"You like it," Gareth said, wrapping an arm around Bridget's waist to lift her up like a sack of potatoes. "How's that?" he asked, well aware that wasn't what she'd been asking for.
He smiled, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek and admiring the way she trembled. "Of course you do," he said, pleased. "I know prey when I smell it. What a relief it must be to find something worth fearing, when left to your own devices you fear such harmless things as answers."
The King unhooked his cloak, pulling it from his shoulders and folding it before tucking it underneath her head. He stretched his wings briefly to fix the way his shirt fell over his back, torn as it was. He rearranged his legs, put his weight onto knees that straddled her waist. He took her hand, guided it between his legs—then further, between her own.
"And what do you think would happen if you didn't?" he wondered. "What do your waking dreams show you, that the sleeping ones do not?" He bent back over her, letting his hand rest on her neck as he nuzzled at her ear. "You do think about it, don't you?" he murmured. "I'm sure you try not to. I wonder what it is you pretend you don't want."
Gareth grabbed a hot cider, and downed it all in one go to send a burst of heat right into him. Then he laughed as Declan started to turn beet-red."Auntie," Declan snapped.
"Aww, Cuz," Gareth teased. "You that eager to get to the ground again? Direct is right."
"Watch it," Declan warned, pointing at him. "I'm your elder. I'll kick your mmph—"
He was interrupted by an enormous red hand covering his entire face before pushing him over. Gareth laughed again as Declan tipped backward, his legs still unsteady, his cider falling into the grass.
"My hand's bigger than your whole head," Gareth pointed out.
"Asshole," Declan said.
"You like it," Gareth said, wrapping an arm around Bridget's waist to lift her up like a sack of potatoes. "How's that?" he asked, well aware that wasn't what she'd been asking for.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-22-2019
She was aware this had been her plan, but her plans were all terrible garbage and she was an idiot, as has been well-established by now. Never mind that it appeared to be working. She begrudged him being hot and she begrudged him being right. She wanted something better to be afraid of than the future. Something immediate, and something that wouldn't kill her. Right then. That moment, anyway. Then the King took off his cloak and she was distracted by the way he put it under her head like a pillow--as if her hair didn't already have leaves and twigs in it from their tumble through the woods. But not distracted enough not to see the way his wings flared briefly out. She shivered, and could feel herself start to flush. Goddamnit. Gareth had been right, she was a monsterfucker. What a terrible way to find out.
She was glad she still had pants on, otherwise she wasn't sure the condition she would have found herself in when the King pulled her hand down between her legs. She could excuse being aroused after this point, but if she'd been aroused before--she didn't think she had been, but what did she know?--she would have been very upset with herself.
"I-I dunno," she stammered. It was hard to think with the King's hand sprawled over her neck, even gently, with his mouth near her ear, whispering obscenity, with his hair rubbing against her cheek. "I know tha' what happens is whatever ya want, but I don't... know what tha' is." The King's mind was inscruitable, and yet incredibly straightforward in other ways. She had guesses, but they were frankly more like fantasies. She couldn't pretend she thought they were likely to happen. Although they were seeming pretty likely, with her hand between her legs and his teeth near her neck.
"S-sometimes, I try t' guess, but..." Those sometimes, her hand normally wound up between her legs like it was now. There wasn't a lot to do in a dark cell when one woke up in the middle of the night, panting and sweaty and hot and confused. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine this was a nightmare that she'd just woken up from, that she was alone in her room.
She hated telling Gareth things. Even when he had her like this, she was normally all obscenities and anger. What was it about the King's sharp blue eyes that made her want to blurt out stupid things she'd never say otherwise?
"I... kept thinkin'... that I'd come t' the castle proper, because of th' proposal and... I had..." Plans was a strong word for nebulous, unfinished ideas. "Thoughts," she settled on. "I was gonna bring tribute and see if y'wanted t'play a game." She wanted to facepalm at her own stupidity, in retrospect. She hated her half-finished tribute. She'd never get her run through the castle now; the King would know she was practicing. He might not care, admittedly, so confident he was that he could always best her.
"I never seem t'know what y'want," she admitted, flushing darker. Mostly because she did, in fact, always expect him to kill her. "And I definitely dunno what I want from you. It's confusin'." She was easily confused in such things to begin with, as Gareth could probably attest. Maybe it was because he was half-succubus, but she'd swear he knew what she'd enjoy way before she did.
Bree laughed in delight at Declan's protest, then rubbed at his head, mussing his hair. "You can always tell when an elf's lost an argument once they pull out the elder business," she said, delighted. "You're all our elders. We're the babies of the family." And she was the youngest, by a few years. As far as she was concerned, that meant she should be getting spoiled.
Before she could take advantage of Declan being put directly to the ground--and she'd been intending to, at great length and with the significant cruelty that only a sibling could match--Gareth hauled her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Drunk, but not drunk enough to appreciate being undignified in ways she hadn't done to herself, she flicked at Gareth's ear. "Dickhead. For someone who said I shouldn't be like the King, you sure are acting like him. He's the only one who gets to pick me up like this and get away with it." The King got away with everything. It was his nature.
Bridget squirmed, but when she reached for something to grab for leverage, she realized there was little of access to her other than his horns... and she didn't feel like getting thrown through a wagon yet tonight. That wouldn't work. Quickly, she thought about the King, a brief meditation on all her favorite things about him, and when her tail began to furiously wag, it was at just the right angle to smack Gareth repeatedly in the face.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-22-2019
The King rose up to watch her face as she made halting attempts to describe the barest beginnings of what might have been a fantasy. Gareth really had been spoiling her, giving her what she wanted without making her beg for it first. Clearly, he was slipping.
"We're working on that," he reminded her. His will, and so on. "Lucky for you, that I already know what you want from me." To be hunted, to be caught, to be taken. To have her worst fears realized and come out alive at the other end of it with her lesser fears quieted. To have a moment's respite from the anxiety of being alive in the certainty of death. All the usual prey things.
"You would bring me tribute," he recapped, "and we would play a game. And when I won—" Because there was no doubt that he would win. "—I would get to do whatever I wanted." He traced her lower lip with a claw. "I want to hear you guess." The thought that it might be something embarrassing for her amused him. He might be kind enough not to mock her outright, but probably not. He was still annoyed with her, after all. She'd ended his fun early. If she couldn't be fun on her own, he'd make fun. "Details. What do you imagine?"
He paused, and held his hand up between their faces, wiggling his fingers and therefore his claws before holding up two fingers together. "I can't help you, Boldheart," he reminded her. "If you want to make things easier on yourself, you ought to get to work. If you'd rather do things the hard way… I wouldn't be surprised. It isn't as if it won't fit eventually."
Declan batted annoyed at Bridget's hands before attempting to fix his curls into their just-so nest. They were still too damp to sit right. He was amused when Gareth picked her up, but also a touch jealous.
"The King stole my move," Gareth asserted. Which may have been true. He didn't actually know. Previously the King would have just picked people up in one hand. He could have gotten his tendency to lug people around from anywhere. Probably.
"Tch." Gareth made a face, leaning away from her overeager tail. He dropped her down to hold her against his hip like a basket of laundry, rolling his shoulder to rub his ear against it.
"You coming?" Gareth asked Declan, gesturing with his free arm to indicate that he could carry a second.
"I've had enough of that, thanks," Declan lied, staying in the grass with one knee bent as he watched the two of them.
"Aww, c'mon," Gareth said. "I won't drop you if you don't squirm."
"We're working on that," he reminded her. His will, and so on. "Lucky for you, that I already know what you want from me." To be hunted, to be caught, to be taken. To have her worst fears realized and come out alive at the other end of it with her lesser fears quieted. To have a moment's respite from the anxiety of being alive in the certainty of death. All the usual prey things.
"You would bring me tribute," he recapped, "and we would play a game. And when I won—" Because there was no doubt that he would win. "—I would get to do whatever I wanted." He traced her lower lip with a claw. "I want to hear you guess." The thought that it might be something embarrassing for her amused him. He might be kind enough not to mock her outright, but probably not. He was still annoyed with her, after all. She'd ended his fun early. If she couldn't be fun on her own, he'd make fun. "Details. What do you imagine?"
He paused, and held his hand up between their faces, wiggling his fingers and therefore his claws before holding up two fingers together. "I can't help you, Boldheart," he reminded her. "If you want to make things easier on yourself, you ought to get to work. If you'd rather do things the hard way… I wouldn't be surprised. It isn't as if it won't fit eventually."
Declan batted annoyed at Bridget's hands before attempting to fix his curls into their just-so nest. They were still too damp to sit right. He was amused when Gareth picked her up, but also a touch jealous."The King stole my move," Gareth asserted. Which may have been true. He didn't actually know. Previously the King would have just picked people up in one hand. He could have gotten his tendency to lug people around from anywhere. Probably.
"Tch." Gareth made a face, leaning away from her overeager tail. He dropped her down to hold her against his hip like a basket of laundry, rolling his shoulder to rub his ear against it.
"You coming?" Gareth asked Declan, gesturing with his free arm to indicate that he could carry a second.
"I've had enough of that, thanks," Declan lied, staying in the grass with one knee bent as he watched the two of them.
"Aww, c'mon," Gareth said. "I won't drop you if you don't squirm."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-22-2019
Oh no, why did everyone always want to make her use her words? Her words were terrible! They were garbage words, no one ever wanted to listen to her until they had the opportunity to make her say something horribly embarrassing. It wasn't the lesson Gareth seemed to think it was, but at least he rarely laughed outright at her. Even if he did mock her. Extensively. Why was she doing this again? Oh yeah: King. Scary. Hot. Mad at her.
"I." It wasn't much of a start, and her cheeks were already starting to flame. "I imagined, um." She would trade her soul for Gareth's ability to make things sound sexy right now. Nothing sounded sexy when she said it. She could have been reciting erotic poetry, and would manage to turn off a succubus, a metaphor that was made all the more real for the fact she knew half of one. "I-I imagined y'might eat me, but not..." She opened her mouth and closed it in the mimicry of an aggressive chomp. "Like at the lake," she explained, absolutely dying. "The... metaphor made it seem real poignant 'n' shit." She wanted to be able to feel his tongue for longer, too. It had been over too fast, because she'd been so overwhelmed by the sheer concept.
"But that all seems real self-indulgent," she admitted. "An' so proly not what you'd actually do." That would be far too easy and far too enjoyable for her personally, probably. "There was another one, where y'caught me goin' over the castle walls an'..." She swallowed, pausing to unfasten her pants. She had thought she might opt for the hard way, being herself, but if she kept thinking about this, it was going to be a moot point anyway. Still, she found she couldn't quite bring herself to reach down when he was right here, staring right into her eyes. She might actually just die on the spot, although she'd done it for Gareth before. It had been somehow easier when Gareth was there to fuck her face hard enough that the thoughts left her brain entirely.
"I was danglin' over the edge," she explained, looking away as best he would let her, face flaming a bright red. She squinted her eyes shut. "An' you fucked my face while I tried to hold on," she blurted out all in one breath. God. This was terrible. She was going to combust. That wasn't even a sexual fantasy, that was just weird, why was she like this.
"Hey!" Bridget exclaimed when Gareth dropped her down to be held by his hip instead, now facing forward. "This isn't better! I'm not a barrel. Honestly, Gareth, you have no idea how to treat a lady whose idea of a good time isn't being manhandled and lugged around by a Big Strong Man." One could hear the capitalization in her voice. "Or a gentleman," she added, with a sly grin at Declan, who could position himself to hide an erection all he wanted. There was no fooling a wolf's nose, even in a veritable crowd of arousal and alcohol. Not when she was this close. "Let me sit on your shoulder! Then you can have one arm for Declan and a hand free for a drink!" she decided cheerfully. "C'mon, lil bro," Bridget had apparently decided she was going to be his extremely troublesome older sister, for the night at least, "unless you think you can't possibly resist squirming?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully, tail wagging cheerfully, thwacking Gareth's ass repeatedly. "Figures you'd be the wiggling type, but I'm told he does know how to be considerate of delicate types."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-22-2019
The King grinned wide, showing off those sharp teeth. "You think I wouldn't want to eat you?" he teased. "Do you think I didn't like the taste of you? That I wouldn't like to hear you beg for more, until you begged me to stop? Until all your limbs stopped working, and you could only thrash about like the mindless little fuckpuppet you are?"
He giggled, tousling her hair. "That's so cute," he said cheerfully. Her embarrassment seemed not at all proportionate to the nature of her fantasies, which he found not at all unusual. He'd heard much stranger. "You must be so grateful that I showed you what your mouth is for. You can tell very well it's not words, can't you?" He was torn between his desire to hold her head down, and to look at her face. He compromised by holding her neck again, his thumb and middle finger under each of her ears such that he could force her to look at him.
"You're going to run out of time," he warned her. "Here I'm giving you a head start again, and you're wasting it." He gave her cheek a gentle warning slap with his fingertips. "Show me how you fuck yourself when you think about being fucked by me."
"Are those all you have?" he pressed. "There's so many parts of you that I could use, so many different ways. Perhaps you only miss the taste of me, having been without it so long."
"Is that not your idea of a good time?" Gareth teased. "I've seen you with the King, you know, and you could have fooled me."
"You're not getting up there unless you can get your tail under control," he warned. "I'm not getting whacked in the back of the head for the rest of the night just because you want to feel tall."
He grinned at Declan. "Maybe he's just more comfortable down there," he suggested, with a grinning flash of fangs.
Declan narrowed his eyes at Bridget. She was up to something. She was trying to catch him out, right here in the middle of the fall festival. In front of the cider cart! There were children about, somewhere, probably. And, more pressingly, Caroline, who would sense imminent disaster and appear from the shadows like some sort of lich that feeds on drama and the death of dreams.
Slowly, Declan started to stand. Before he was fully upright, he held up a single finger, as if he were about to say something.
Then he bolted for the haystacks.
Gareth watched him go with a confused tilt of his head.
He giggled, tousling her hair. "That's so cute," he said cheerfully. Her embarrassment seemed not at all proportionate to the nature of her fantasies, which he found not at all unusual. He'd heard much stranger. "You must be so grateful that I showed you what your mouth is for. You can tell very well it's not words, can't you?" He was torn between his desire to hold her head down, and to look at her face. He compromised by holding her neck again, his thumb and middle finger under each of her ears such that he could force her to look at him.
"You're going to run out of time," he warned her. "Here I'm giving you a head start again, and you're wasting it." He gave her cheek a gentle warning slap with his fingertips. "Show me how you fuck yourself when you think about being fucked by me."
"Are those all you have?" he pressed. "There's so many parts of you that I could use, so many different ways. Perhaps you only miss the taste of me, having been without it so long."
"Is that not your idea of a good time?" Gareth teased. "I've seen you with the King, you know, and you could have fooled me.""You're not getting up there unless you can get your tail under control," he warned. "I'm not getting whacked in the back of the head for the rest of the night just because you want to feel tall."
He grinned at Declan. "Maybe he's just more comfortable down there," he suggested, with a grinning flash of fangs.
Declan narrowed his eyes at Bridget. She was up to something. She was trying to catch him out, right here in the middle of the fall festival. In front of the cider cart! There were children about, somewhere, probably. And, more pressingly, Caroline, who would sense imminent disaster and appear from the shadows like some sort of lich that feeds on drama and the death of dreams.
Slowly, Declan started to stand. Before he was fully upright, he held up a single finger, as if he were about to say something.
Then he bolted for the haystacks.
Gareth watched him go with a confused tilt of his head.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-22-2019
Ren was bright red, and she was probably going to remain that way for the rest of the encounter. In such a short period of time, she'd forgotten just how horribly good at this the King was. Had he been this good before? Was he figuring her shit out? She couldn't figure out which train of thought to follow, even. All she knew was that the background level "want" had suddenly and abruptly catapulted to an immediate and deeply pressing "need." She needed his tongue, and she needed hers on him, and she definitely needed his hands on her, holding her down by her neck. When he slapped her, just enough of a love tap to sting, a moan spilled out of her before she could stop it.
Arousal swiftly won out over self-consciousness, and she pulled her pants down a little further, far enough that she could slip her hand into her underwear. She'd started wearing underwear extremely reliably after Gareth had made it such an every day necessity.
"I, I think about you all th' time," she confessed, flushing. The truth was she thought about Gareth more, and the two of them in tandem almost as frequently, but the King didn't need to know that. The King featured in her darker fantasies, things she didn't think Gareth would want to do. Things she didn't necessarily want him to want to do.
"After you fucked me, my ass hurt longer 'n my foot did. I think about that, I think about you fuckin' me so hard I can feel it fer a week after. So hard that Gareth can tell I'm still raw th' next time he bends me over a work bench." She ran a finger in circles around her clit, and whimpered. She normally lost coherency quickly, but since she'd been started on this tangent, she just kept going as she slipped her two middle fingers into herself, palm pressing against her clit. Her hands were small, she didn't know how much good it could possibly do.
"But y'never do what I expect yer gonna do," she groaned out. "An' I think tha' might be what I like." Once he caught her, it was about what he wanted to do. The limits of her own imagination ceased to be important, what she could express she wanted wasn't the limit. She would never have guessed in a million years that he'd say he liked the taste of her--did she taste good? Was that why Gareth was always licking his fingers?--or that he'd want to eat her until she begged him to stop. It would never have occurred to her to ask Gareth for something like that, and she wouldn't even begin to know how to phrase it. Even now, she was grasping for words to put to the feelings, and failing.
"It's so hard to know what t'do," she said, and she realized she was talking about more than just sex. Her world was upsidedown and backwards and incomprehensible and she no longer had any idea what the right thing to do was. It wasn't clear like it had been. She didn't know anything. "But once you have me, there ain't a choice. We jus' do whatever you want." And if she played her cards right, there was room inside what the King wanted for some of the things she wanted. Not all of them, none of the most important things, but the King had a way of making the important seem unimportant, for just a short time.
"Please," she begged, unclear on why she was begging when she hadn't been explicitly told to. "I jus' want--Fuck my throat til I can't talk so I don't have to. Fuck me til I can't walk without leanin' on you. Please. I want y'to mess me up til I can't think anymore."
Bridget flushed a bit indignantly, not appreciating being teased when she was trying to be the one doing the teasing. "That's different," she insisted. "He's the King." Bridget tried to explain this to a lot of people, a lot of the time, and didn't understand how they couldn't get it. The King was in his own category. He did things like throw her around and hold her down and tie her to things with ropes she could break but wouldn't because he told her not to. Other people couldn't do that, even when she wanted them to, because they weren't the King, and her instincts might get the better of her and she might hurt someone. It was the same reason she only wrestled with Gareth, and got bored of her boyfriends. Surely it was the same for everyone. The King was the King.
Declan, who wasn't the King and therefore wasn't Bridget's type and only saw her chasing pumpkins during the fall festival, for instance, wouldn't know certain important things about her, things the King knew and could watch for. Things like, say, her chase instinct.
The second he took off, Bree let out a bark, too canine for a human mouth, and gave an overly violent squirm to break out of Gareth's relaxed grip. It took longer than she would have liked, and she hit the ground running, sprinting after Declan.
She didn't always give chase. But when someone was so clearly running away from her, well...
She caught up to him near the haystacks, probably because he picked up speed when he realized who was chasing him and drew his own conclusions as to why. She tackled him clean into one and then clung to him as she rolled him clear through to the other side, tousling and practically hugging him until they rolled to a stop with him on bottom. Her tail wagged furiously and excitedly, like a dog that just caught a ball.
"I caught you," she said, sounding very pleased with herself. She would be embarrassed when she wasn't drunk. She sat down on him, looking around for Gareth. "I caught him!" she called out, very pleased with herself.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-23-2019
"There's a good girl," the King said. He pulled off his shirt, though he might have kept it if it were nicer. As it was, he thought his bare skin was far more regal than this rough linen. There were faint scales along his ribs, raised and crooked around the thin line of his scar. Bands of lead were wrapped around his forearms. His legs moved between hers, separated them. His claws touched her hips as he grabbed her underwear and pulled, leggings coming with them down to her knees—as well as that sock she'd been using to play at being a boy.
His hands underneath her bare thighs, he folded her in half the way he so enjoyed, sliding his knees underneath her back to lift her hips higher. He took her by the wrists and hooked her arms under her legs, made her hold them up and out so that he could hold her up with his hands on her back. The position made it easier to see her face as he ate her, twisted up all unnaturally.
He bent his head, his hair still held out of the way by his braid, and ran his tongue over her. His tongue slid inside her and curled, the crook of his nose rubbing against her clit as he tasted her at length. Eventually the tip of his tongue started to draw shapes around her clit, taking the occasional cold breath, listening to the sounds she made.
Finally, his lips wrapped around her clit, and as he started to suck, he purred.
Declan had known from the start how this was going to end. Or at least he'd had a pretty good idea. He might not see Bridget often, but when he did see her, she was chasing pumpkins like her life depended on it. Clearly, chasing was a thing she did. But his biggest concern had been limiting the number of people witness to his humiliation, preferably to zero. He could tell it was coming. A dog with a bone didn't let it go. Better to get it over with on his own terms.
It still came as a surprise when he was tackled right through a haystack, the shock putting a convenient stop to the anatomical issue he'd been trying to hide.
"Dammit," Gareth swore as soon as Bridget escaped his grip. He'd tried to hold onto her once he realized what she was doing, but it hadn't worked. He chased after the both of them, hoping to pull her off of him before she could do to much damage.
Declan, meanwhile, had a whole new problem. Which was pretty Bridget sitting neat as could be on his lap, far warmer than his still-damp trousers.
Anatomical issues returned in full-force.
Declan looked at where she was sitting on him. He looked at her. "You sure did," he agreed a bit breathless, good-natured enough for a shaky laugh. He had hay in his hair, and stuck to his clothes. "Should've known you'd be the on-top type," he added, more capable of wit without an audience.
Gareth paused when he'd caught up to them. "... am I interrupting?" he asked, though he felt sure that he wasn't.
"Not at all," Declan said, throwing out his arms and trying to catch his breath.
His hands underneath her bare thighs, he folded her in half the way he so enjoyed, sliding his knees underneath her back to lift her hips higher. He took her by the wrists and hooked her arms under her legs, made her hold them up and out so that he could hold her up with his hands on her back. The position made it easier to see her face as he ate her, twisted up all unnaturally.
He bent his head, his hair still held out of the way by his braid, and ran his tongue over her. His tongue slid inside her and curled, the crook of his nose rubbing against her clit as he tasted her at length. Eventually the tip of his tongue started to draw shapes around her clit, taking the occasional cold breath, listening to the sounds she made.
Finally, his lips wrapped around her clit, and as he started to suck, he purred.
Declan had known from the start how this was going to end. Or at least he'd had a pretty good idea. He might not see Bridget often, but when he did see her, she was chasing pumpkins like her life depended on it. Clearly, chasing was a thing she did. But his biggest concern had been limiting the number of people witness to his humiliation, preferably to zero. He could tell it was coming. A dog with a bone didn't let it go. Better to get it over with on his own terms.It still came as a surprise when he was tackled right through a haystack, the shock putting a convenient stop to the anatomical issue he'd been trying to hide.
"Dammit," Gareth swore as soon as Bridget escaped his grip. He'd tried to hold onto her once he realized what she was doing, but it hadn't worked. He chased after the both of them, hoping to pull her off of him before she could do to much damage.
Declan, meanwhile, had a whole new problem. Which was pretty Bridget sitting neat as could be on his lap, far warmer than his still-damp trousers.
Anatomical issues returned in full-force.
Declan looked at where she was sitting on him. He looked at her. "You sure did," he agreed a bit breathless, good-natured enough for a shaky laugh. He had hay in his hair, and stuck to his clothes. "Should've known you'd be the on-top type," he added, more capable of wit without an audience.
Gareth paused when he'd caught up to them. "... am I interrupting?" he asked, though he felt sure that he wasn't.
"Not at all," Declan said, throwing out his arms and trying to catch his breath.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-23-2019
Just like that, Ren was folded into a goddamn pretzel. It seemed plain that the King had discovered how flexible she was and was determined to test it to the breaking point. Her breaking point, specifically. Still, the second she realized what he was doing, she did as he bade her, holding her legs up out of the way. There was no hiding her enthusiasm, eyes all wide and cheeks all flushed. She could see the glint of his teeth as he ran is tongue between her legs. His tongue was cool and his breath was hot and when he pushed his tongue inside of her, she had sudden and intense sympathy for Gareth's plight from a few weeks back. Her whole body shuddered, her hands clenched against her legs. It was hard not to sink a hand into his hair, just to feel it, but Gareth had put his hands behind his back and hadn't touched the King until allowed. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she was capable of learning.
"Oh, ah, fuck, yer Majesty," she panted. "D-do I taste good?" It felt like a risk to say anything, but there was something so dangerously stupid about asking a predator if she was delicious that she couldn't resist.
His tongue found her clit, cold inhales and hot exhales and teasingly tracing around it and not on it. It was hellishly good, but bent up as she was, she could barely even squirm, her feet twitching uselessly in the air.
"Ah, shit, ah--" Ren would have thought the King spend the last 13 years doing nothing but this, for the skill he'd found at it. When he seized her clit in earnest, wrapping his lips around it and sucking, then vibrating her with a purr, her back seized up, arching briefly away from his hands supporting her, trying to push against him despite how impractical it was in this position. It didn't matter, suddenly, that he was the King and a dragon and she was trying to be good. Her body was moving on its own, and what it wanted was to push against him until she came.
Pretty much anyone, upon realizing they were sitting on someone's hard-on, would put two and two together. Bridget, however, while good at math, was also drunk, kind of high on chasing, and almost comically bad at picking up on cues. Yes, sure, Declan was hard, but he'd already been hard. It had been directed at Gareth. Maintaining arousal through a full body tackle didn't seem particularly implausible. God knew she could do it. Still, she should probably get off his dick. He didn't seem put-out by it, but it was probably rude. This worked out, she scooted up onto his chest. There. Problem solved.
"You're slow," she accused Gareth when he found them behind the haystacks. "You should have been the one to catch him." Her tail brushed slowly over Declan's stomach. They were both terrible at this. How either of them ever managed to get laid was beyond her.
Although as the blood in her veins calmed down a little bit, she had the good sense to realize what she'd done. Frowning, she glanced down at Declan. "Oh... I didn't break your hip or anything, did I?" She didn't get off, still, because if he was injured he shouldn't move. "Are you okay? Sorry. Everyone in the castle is too smart to run from me at this point. Why did you even run? Honestly, you can't run from your own erections, Declan. I don't know why you'd try; it didn't even work."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-23-2019
"Delicious," he murmured against her skin.
He kept going as she came, then harder when she was done, until he felt a second wave seize her. He gave her a moment's reprieve to taste her again, his tongue inside of her, her muscles looser and wetter in open invitation. He gave a long, slow lick before starting to work her up again. He sought out the sweet spot, close enough to her overworked clit that she could feel it without her nerves misfiring, tricking her back over the edge when it should have been too much. That was the moment when he'd latch onto her swollen clit again, too much all at once when she was overstimulated as she was. It was a game to see how many times he could force her to orgasm before she started struggling and begging him for mercy.
Once he decided she'd had enough, he lowered her back down into his lap, running his tongue over his lips. He slipped his cock out of his trousers, pressing the head against her. There were a few small ridges along the top that this form usually lacked—though not so many as a true midform, fortunately for her.
If he'd done this a bit sooner, it would have been easy for them both; instead, he'd wanted it to be both too easy and too much. Easy enough to start pushing inside of her when she was soaked enough to drip down her skin. But he could feel the sensitive, inflamed heat of her, twitching at the slightest touch and now getting stuffed too full.
The King bent down to kiss her, his face still sticky and his mouth still tasting of her. "Feel free to struggle," he murmured. "I can always hold you down until I'm done."
Gareth was no longer so sure he wasn't interrupting.
Declan groaned as Bridget rubbed over his cock through his jeans as she slid higher on him, his hips bucking. He laughed breathlessly. "I was runnin' from the peanut gallery," he said, "since you'd gone and taken such an interest in my dick all of a sudden. My hip's fine, but if you wanna have another go at my pelvis, you go right ahead."
This hadn't really gone the way he'd planned, since he'd started the day thinking he'd try to get Gareth alone in the woods after an impressive show of pumpkin-launching. Maybe try to angle for a dick in his mouth. This was, in many ways, the opposite of all those things. Still, hope springs eternal and all that.
"Maybe you could take turns?" he suggested, pretending it was a joke and not a legitimate offer.
"Declan, you slut," Gareth accused.
"You're one to talk," Declan shot back.
He kept going as she came, then harder when she was done, until he felt a second wave seize her. He gave her a moment's reprieve to taste her again, his tongue inside of her, her muscles looser and wetter in open invitation. He gave a long, slow lick before starting to work her up again. He sought out the sweet spot, close enough to her overworked clit that she could feel it without her nerves misfiring, tricking her back over the edge when it should have been too much. That was the moment when he'd latch onto her swollen clit again, too much all at once when she was overstimulated as she was. It was a game to see how many times he could force her to orgasm before she started struggling and begging him for mercy.
Once he decided she'd had enough, he lowered her back down into his lap, running his tongue over his lips. He slipped his cock out of his trousers, pressing the head against her. There were a few small ridges along the top that this form usually lacked—though not so many as a true midform, fortunately for her.
If he'd done this a bit sooner, it would have been easy for them both; instead, he'd wanted it to be both too easy and too much. Easy enough to start pushing inside of her when she was soaked enough to drip down her skin. But he could feel the sensitive, inflamed heat of her, twitching at the slightest touch and now getting stuffed too full.
The King bent down to kiss her, his face still sticky and his mouth still tasting of her. "Feel free to struggle," he murmured. "I can always hold you down until I'm done."
Gareth was no longer so sure he wasn't interrupting.Declan groaned as Bridget rubbed over his cock through his jeans as she slid higher on him, his hips bucking. He laughed breathlessly. "I was runnin' from the peanut gallery," he said, "since you'd gone and taken such an interest in my dick all of a sudden. My hip's fine, but if you wanna have another go at my pelvis, you go right ahead."
This hadn't really gone the way he'd planned, since he'd started the day thinking he'd try to get Gareth alone in the woods after an impressive show of pumpkin-launching. Maybe try to angle for a dick in his mouth. This was, in many ways, the opposite of all those things. Still, hope springs eternal and all that.
"Maybe you could take turns?" he suggested, pretending it was a joke and not a legitimate offer.
"Declan, you slut," Gareth accused.
"You're one to talk," Declan shot back.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-23-2019
It was the sight of his eyes that did it the first time; his mouth on her and his eyes, blue and glinting in the fading light fixed onto hers with the intensity of... Well, of a predator. She came, legs twitching and back spasming and oh ow this was such an impractical angle to orgasm at. Her body tensed up so much she would have definitely fallen over if not for the fact she was being forced into a half-folded knot. She had kind of guessed he wouldn't stop, but it still caught her by surprise. Normally it would take her much longer to recover, her clit far too sensitive for such things, but somehow he found a spot that made her squirm but not scream, until he worked her up enough to be screaming again. Her back ached after she came a second time, both it and her legs cramping painfully. Which was probably why it took even longer the third time, and probably why he was even crueler about it, pushing her buttons like a child on a lift for the first time.
One of hands briefly left her leg to go to his head, as if to pull him off, but she stopped short of tangling a hand in his hair. She couldn't pull; she wouldn't. What if he bit her? Instead, he started sucking on her over-sensitive clit again, and she almost cried.
"Nononono AH! AH! Too much too much toomuch hnnnnngh!" Her legs straightened as something orgasm-adjacent was torn out of her, wetness now spilling down her back. Arms too weak to hold her legs back, they stuck up at odd angles, shaking wildly as he kept going. "No, please, Avi, I'm gonna die, it hurts, it hurts."
She almost hadn't expected him to stop, and sighed in relief before realizing she had definitely sighed too soon. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her soaked entrance, slipping in almost effortlessly due to how wet she was. But it was still a stretch; she could swear it was even more of one. This was reaching into Gareth-tier stretch territory, and--
"Is that, were those, are those ridges, I--OH HOLY FUCK." As he pushed inside of her, those were definitely ridges and they definitely rubbed almost agonizingly over a spot inside that would normally feel amazing but right now made her clit throb. "Oh, it hurts, oh, it's big holy shit." The King, apparently was going through her wish list one at a time. Hopefully he couldn't find a nearby enough cliff to do them all. "I'm too small," she said, even though she knew that had never stopped anyone and that she'd be extremely upset if it did. She was way too small, logically speaking, but if she hadn't exploded from too much dick when she had both him and Gareth inside of her, clearly she was just designed for this, some trick of her mystery ancestry.
He leaned down to kiss her, and she took it with gratitude, twitching around his cock. When he pulled back, the permission to struggle was like a soothing balm. Immediately, she aimed a kick for his shoulder. "Make me," she said, what would normally be a challenge to Gareth coming out more as a beg for the King. "Hold me down and make me an' don't finish until way after I want you t' stop." She wanted something past her better judgement. She wanted something she'd regret, but survive. And most importantly, she wanted something she'd feel for weeks, something that would have Gareth begging her to see a doctor, something that would occupy her mind so she wouldn't have to think about any of the bullshit the King had implanted there tonight.
Bridget glanced between Declan and Gareth, bewildered. This was all wrong. Oh, but, wait... No... Wait... Maybe? Declan was acting as if the King had caught him--people didn't react this way when she caught them, generally speaking. But maybe that was because she was always in the castle. That was the King's territory--well the whole Kingdom was his territory, but he really only hunted in the Castle and capital city. Maybe outside of there, the normal instincts kicked in and she was enough to register. To people who liked that sort of thing, which seemed to be a lot, by her estimates. "This is your fault!" Bridget leveled the accusation at Gareth. "He wanted your dick, it was obvious! I could smell it on him! But you didn't even try to catch him, and now I caught him, and he--" She blinked. "Directly-to-the-ground. Oh, I get it now. You were right, it does fit really well."
Declan had, unfortunately for him, now gotten the attached tag of "kind of a slut yeah actually" in her mind. Still, she pouted down at him.
"This is your fault too. This is both of your faults." She pointed at Declan. "You are terrible at telling someone you want to suck their dick." She pointed at Gareth. "We've been over you already." She, apparently, was absolutely blameless in this situation. She'd just been trying to help. "He's serious. Can't you smell it on him?" she whined. Gareth was a succubus. Half of one. You'd think he could tell! "He's pretending to be joking because he likes you and he's embarrassed but he had a boner way before I sat on him!" Frustrated, she grabbed Declan's face--more gently than she could have--and angled it towards Gareth. "If you want his dick, tell him," she ordered. "You're both awful."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-23-2019
The King laughed at her dramatic pleading, as if this were the worst torture she could imagine; giggled when she tried to kick at him, not learning her lesson from the first time she'd tried it. Her leggings were still wrapped awkwardly around her knees, and he took a moment to look her over, trying to decide how he wanted her. He could strip her down, but he'd done that once already, hadn't he? There was something appealing in this mostly-dressed aesthetic she had on, still looking boyish.
He pulled out long enough to flip her over, dropping her head back onto his cloak, hips in the air. The bunched-up fabric around her knees was going to be providing vital padding, now. His hand on the side of her head, pressing her down into his cloak, was not quite as impressive as some larger hands she'd had there, but was actually significantly more likely to damage her skull by accident.
It was fine. He had practice.
He rammed back into her soaked cunt in one impossibly long stroke, hips up against her ass. "You can take it," he said. "You're going to take it. It's practically what you're made for, isn't it?" He started hammering into her, still holding her down, claws on her hip. "You certainly haven't found any better use for yourself. Are you going to scratch at the dirt like a filthy animal, trying to get away? Do you still think you can? Do you still think you want to? Do you think that it matters, when I can find you and use you whenever I want?"
"My dick is popular," Gareth shrugged, too hapless for it to be a humble-brag. He had neither the time nor the inclination to explain the effect his bloodline had on lust, the limited but extant extent to which he had the aura of a thing intended to satisfy someone else's desires.
Most people did not want to fuck him as much as they thought they did in his presence, and not everyone liked that they wanted to fuck him.
Declan squirmed a little underneath her as she manhandled him. "Well, obviously," Declan said. "His dick is popular," he added, like he couldn't be held accountable.
"You know," Gareth said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "You say he was already hard, but you've apparently been keeping track of the status of his dick, and now he looks ready to dry hump you."
Declan turned redder than he'd been. "I'm not going to—she's not even in the right spot for me to do that," he amended.
"You were sort of—" Gareth gestured with a hand motion evocative of how Declan's hips had jerked upward.
"That was—no—once isn't—that's not enough to count," he decided, because he'd accept being Declan Directly-to-the-Ground before he accepted being Declan Dry-Humping-Through-His-Clothes. "That doesn't count," he added to Bridget. "Don't be telling people that."
He pulled out long enough to flip her over, dropping her head back onto his cloak, hips in the air. The bunched-up fabric around her knees was going to be providing vital padding, now. His hand on the side of her head, pressing her down into his cloak, was not quite as impressive as some larger hands she'd had there, but was actually significantly more likely to damage her skull by accident.
It was fine. He had practice.
He rammed back into her soaked cunt in one impossibly long stroke, hips up against her ass. "You can take it," he said. "You're going to take it. It's practically what you're made for, isn't it?" He started hammering into her, still holding her down, claws on her hip. "You certainly haven't found any better use for yourself. Are you going to scratch at the dirt like a filthy animal, trying to get away? Do you still think you can? Do you still think you want to? Do you think that it matters, when I can find you and use you whenever I want?"
"My dick is popular," Gareth shrugged, too hapless for it to be a humble-brag. He had neither the time nor the inclination to explain the effect his bloodline had on lust, the limited but extant extent to which he had the aura of a thing intended to satisfy someone else's desires.Most people did not want to fuck him as much as they thought they did in his presence, and not everyone liked that they wanted to fuck him.
Declan squirmed a little underneath her as she manhandled him. "Well, obviously," Declan said. "His dick is popular," he added, like he couldn't be held accountable.
"You know," Gareth said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "You say he was already hard, but you've apparently been keeping track of the status of his dick, and now he looks ready to dry hump you."
Declan turned redder than he'd been. "I'm not going to—she's not even in the right spot for me to do that," he amended.
"You were sort of—" Gareth gestured with a hand motion evocative of how Declan's hips had jerked upward.
"That was—no—once isn't—that's not enough to count," he decided, because he'd accept being Declan Directly-to-the-Ground before he accepted being Declan Dry-Humping-Through-His-Clothes. "That doesn't count," he added to Bridget. "Don't be telling people that."