Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Lost Legacy
Lusting for the Dark
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2010
- Location
- Teetering on the Edge
Call me Lost. Call me Legacy. Call me away to a dream awash in nightmares.
Intro Post Length ~1500 words. Average Post Length... Till it paints a picture.
Attempt to post once a week. More or less will make me weep.
Dark and wicked my stories be. Passion burned slow stokes heat in me.
About Me
Less Cryptic this Time!
Less Cryptic this Time!
Aloha and welcome to my scattered thoughts. I'm a writer by hobby and roleplayer by nature.
I can sadly say I have been doing both for half my life now making me 30ish. Who keeps track of the exact number by this point?
I like to write slow, will they, won't they, dark romances that push the edges of what we as people are comfortable with emotionally.
Batter our poor protagonists so that when the final, happy ending arrives, we can experience true joy right along with them. All the more glorious for the valleys of gloom we forced them through.
My initial posts average ~1500 words in length, which will hopefully provide you and idea of the level of detail and quality posts I'm looking for in a partner.
I prefer to write from a myriad of character perspectives in the third person. I have a strong need for the world to exist beyond the protagonist(s).
I'll attempt to post once a week. Depending on how much effort or detail the response calls for and how busy I am that week.
I'm willing to write in PMs, Google Docs, or Email. Email being the least favored because it looks like work email.
About you?
I hope!
I hope!
I'm looking for a partner willing to plot out a few scenes at a time with me.
Someone who is willing to put in effort equal to or even exceeding my own in post quality.
I know that's selfish but my therapist says its healthy to be selfish now and again.
I'm hoping for someone who is looking for a story that while it certainly has smutty scenes and themes, is still heavily plot oriented.
Someone who is willing to toe that "will they, won't they?" line with me until the sexual and emotional frustration borders on annoying.
A partner who is every bit as excited as I am to see the protagonist(s) have their happy ending!
Aaaand at the same time I'm looking for a partner that is ready to explore all of the dark, deplorable, and damning topics that could break our protagonist(s) along the way.
Finally I'd love for a perspective partner who'll send me examples of their previous works so they might lure me in.
The Good Stuff
Themes and Kinks!
Co-Dependency, Healthy Love, Unhealthy Love
Blood, Rough Sex, Betrayal, Cheating, Violence
Nails, Biting, Breath play, Scratches, Bruises
Teasing, Tension, Embaressment, Pride, Abuse
Pain, Horror, Confusion, Loss
Self Destruction, Power Dynamics, Political Strife
Consequences
The Bad
Please don't touch these!
Scat or Vore.
Overly erotic proportions or characters.
Rushing character development for the sake of smut.
Requesting I write a bland, grizly, heart of gold silverfox protaganist. (Will write complicated ones happily!)
No writing of cannon characters as anything more than background figures.
The Fourth Wing
My #1 Current Plot Idea
A blatant rip off of Rebecca Yarros' Fourth Wing book for those who know.
But lets make it darker. Let's highlight the loss and trauma that a college bent on pitting people against each other would cause.
For those who don't know....
The world is a dangerous place. The kingdom surrounded on all sides by enemies bent on their destruction. The forces of our enemies seem infinite, and their methods unknowable.
The only thing preventing our doom, are the dragons.
We protect their eggs, their young and their home. In return they protect us. With tooth , claw, and fire. But most importantly they offer us Magic.
It's Magic that evens the imbalance of numbers. Though our enemies can swarm the fields, WE can annihilate them and the field they rush over.
But there are only so many dragons.
To harness a dragon's power they must bond with a rider. Forming an intimate and personal connection that fuses their souls.
Thus the Citadel was born. To weed out those unworthy of becoming a dragon rider.
For three years, applicants study, compete and train to earn the right.
For three years their numbers are widdled down by deadly challenges, tests, and outright murdering of each other to compete for the right to stand before the dragons.
And the dragons will only deign receive the strong.
What kind of people could find love in such a place? Why does the kingdom have so many enemies?
What happens when the Princess decides to compete for the right to be a Dragon Rider?
What happens when the Son of a Traitor is forced to apply as punishment for their father's deeds?
What sort of trust can be earned, when every day may be your last, and any one may be your killer?
The Hero's Shadow
My #2 plot idea!
She lived every little girl's dream. The simple, idyllic farming village. She was surrounded by beautiful fields of flourishing crops, enchanted forests, and friendly neighbors. Their kingdom thrived in prosperity in an unerring time of peace. A peace brought about by their partner. THE Hero. It was the Hero who saved the kingdom from the army of evil. It was the Hero who led the forces of good against the monsters that raped and pillaged. It was the Hero who left for war at such a young age and brought back the light when all thought it lost. It is the Hero everyone looks up too, for their selfless deeds, their noble humility to return home after the war and settle down in a simple farming village. To their childhood sweetheart. The simple wife. To a happily ever after that proved all those stories told to children were true.
That is until the happily ever after is ruined. When the demon's returned for vengeance and kidnap the Hero's wife the happily ever after was shattered. They use her to blackmail the Hero. And it works. Because nothing is more important in the entire world than their love for their wife. In return for service, the Hero and Wife are reunited. If only in the gloom of enemy territory. The Hero does their best to appease their demonic overlords, all while still playing their role. Still protecting people. It's only a matter of time until they can find a way out of it. Until they can free their wife and themselves and return with the forces of good to lay low this evil once and for all. Until then, the Hero does everything they can to protect their wife.
The Hero has always been good to her. They have always loved her. Cared for her. Been tender and kind. Supportive and an ever glowing light in her dark days. So why is it... that's she's starting to have these thoughts... about a demon? A brute that has hurt her. Lied to her. Manipulated her from the very first moment they met on the day the Wife was captured. Why is it that she feels... more free than ever when he's around? The man who literally holds her prisoner.
This can definitely be reworked and certainly needs fleshed out a bit more but that's the basic jist of this plot. I'd love to explore the slow corruption aspects of this. Of possibly falling out of love with someone who's tried their very best. Of falling for someone who's doing their very worst. Of wanting both? I'd also love to explore that pain and resentment that builds when someone's entire existence becomes overshadowed by their partner. A GLARING WARNING for anyone triggered by themes of cheating or NTR, at least at first if you'd be interested in writing this with me.
The Staff
My #3 Plot Idea
Times are hard. A change was needed.
A change came in the form of a strange offer letter.
The official letter of inheritance was delivered in person.
It came with relief from the crushing debt, a change in scenery, and the promise of stability.
All YC needs to do, is move to an island off the coast, move into the mansion, and keep the staff.
The offer letter is incredibly clear about this. Failure to met any of the stipulations
and YC is back out on the streets with even less than they started with.
It doesn't seem like too much to deal with.
Until YC meets them. There's something off about them.
The uniforms all seemed ripped out of last century.
Their mannerisms so stiff and off putting.
The strange hours they keep and the way they keep staring.
The innuendoes that seem wildly inappropriate.
And then there's the happenings.
Strange lights in the skies.
Odd noises heard coming from rooms that don't exist.
Stairwells that you would have sworn weren't there when you took the tour.
I'm looking for a partner willing to write an eldritch horror/occult story with me!
I don't have a particular MC in mind for this one to be honest,
my current idea mostly revolves around writing as the staff in a more GM role.
This is a very undercooked plot and I'd love to work with someone to flesh it out a bit.
Oh and for those interested we could totally turn this into a ghost story!
The Final Word
All the things left unsaid
If the Fourth Wing or The Hero's Shadow doesn't catch your interest feel free to shoot your own ideas!
If you think we might make good partners, please message me and let me know your thoughts.
Feel free to ask me any questions.
And look below for examples of my writing!
And look below for examples of my writing!
There was nothing so infuriating in this world as mud. It stank to high heaven on the rare occasions the sun was out, ruining an otherwise beautiful day. It clung to the fine velvet of a lovingly cobbled pair of shoes, seeping through the lining and soaking one's toes. It splattered along coat tails, hems of jackets and pretty dresses. But worst of all, it was an unrelenting traveling partner. Regardless of if you planned an epic and glorious trip across the country side or a small jaunt down the street, the mud insisted on keeping you company.
It was the on the latter of such trips that Colyn Sansonett, thrice cursed the mud he wade through while answering a summons from the Viscountess. Mayhap in a truly refined city such as Elbrook, the mud would finally desist in plaguing him. The self-proclaimed advisor had heard tell that the streets there were entirely paved with cobbled stone! That unfortunately was not the case here in Claybourne. The city was aptly named after the earthly mineral that mixed with the salty air from the coast to leave a constant sour tang in everyone's nose. Nearly seven months here and it still disturbed Colyn's sensibilities. The next town he hopped off to would be far, FAR away from the coast.
"No, no, no… We're going to do better this time." Colyn chided himself softly, as his thumb and forefinger worked anxiously to curl he edges of his well twirled mustache. There would be no need to skip town this time. This was it. He'd finally landed the perfect role. An advisor to nobility! Here he'd be able to leave a mark on the world! He'd be properly appreciated for his clever ideas and thoughtful soliloquies! His tireless toiling had finally paid off. Now he was getting early morning invitations to the Viscount's chambers. The sun had finally deigned to shine down upon his luck starved life.
He was a noble's advisor, the words repeated in his head again and again as he neared the guarded side door to the Viscount's villa. He certainly looked the part. Dashing dark black hair combed over and completed with a slight curl at the tips. Distinguished mustache curled to give his strong jawline and steel blue eyes maximum sophistication. Behind him trailed the flapping dark black cloak with a counter crimson red underside. His fine attire "acquired" with his employer's blessing from a local tailor. It was a well cut doublet of deep forest green and expensive silver trimmings. His black slacks were pristine and well kept save for the damnable mud near his heels. It was a look stolen directly from Ordo Virtutum, a play he learned during his time with a traveling troupe. In it the Devil would come knocking, looking every bit the well dressed suitor stealing off with the daughters of farmers and wives of happy men.
Ducking his head through the entrance, Colyn made his way through the halls that were slowly becoming familiar. The hard mahogany estate was richly furnished. Carpets of deep reds inscribed with fine embroidery. Plenty of candles to light servants' passages through the halls. Every so often a painting would hang upon the wall, each said to be representing some prior inhabitant of the creaking manor estate. The Grimald family could trace their lineage back over ten generations. A fact Colyn was quite familiar with after he'd spent many a night with cramped hands scribing proof of said lineage. They were old stock who had been about since the founding of the kingdom, yet they had never managed to push their realm of influence past what their clay mines and fisheries could buy them.
The young advisor had finally been able to break down the enigmatic Lady Grimald just the other night. She had plans to see the family finally take that next step. And now it seems she would seek his guidance on how to go about it. With a gentle rapt of the door that barred the servant's entrance to the Grimald's private room, the dark haired conman prepared to put on the performance of his life. This would be it. Here would be the moment he'd point back to when he told his children's children why they were so well off and everyone knew their name.
"Enter." Her voice was soft but stung through the air like a whip. Viscountess Anora Grimald was the epitome of a noble matron. Her once raven hair was all the more distinguished with stark streaks of silver. She bore a strong posture linked to a healthy and firm frame that wrapped in the most fashionable silks. Sharp well maintained eyebrows. In fact her entire face was a collection of sharp features that were highlighted by crisp artistry that brough out her crimson lips and high cheeks.
She didn't immediately look up from whatever it was she was reading in her little nook. There was a small unadorned desk, a comfy looking bench, and several shelves brimming with bottles of various liquids and books. Perhaps tomes would be a more apt descriptor for the works upon the shelves. The phantom of a cramp coursed through Colyn's right hand every time he saw the massive bindings of parchment.
Not having her immediate attention upon greeting the Viscountess was not something Colyn was unaccustomed to. It had become something of a ritual for him to make his own grand entrance before she would acknowledge his presence. Thus, it was that as Colyn entered the room, he stepped into a low obsequious bow, arm trailed out to the side, flaring the cape of his cloak. "My Lady Grimald. I have traveled the weary road to answer your beck and call. How might I be of service." Though his eyes remained firmly on the floor, not a hair so much as twitched as he gave a seemingly sincere and straight faced introduction.
"Mmm, yes. The weary road between here and the Imp. I'm certain your aching feet must be dying for a rest. Perhaps I should fetch another to do my bidding." The matron graced him with a sidelong glance over her reading, brow arched to a devastating point.
"Parish the thought Viscountess. I would sooner eat my shoe than not rise up to any need you have of me!" His voice aghast with just enough dignity to not come across as overtly rude as he rose back up from the bow. With his hand over his heart he looked every bit the stage trouper he had once been.
"Bah. Enough of your dramatics Colyn." The Viscountess spat the words out then proceeded to wave them away as one might a bothersome insect. "I have need of your vapid jawing to acquire rabble I need set to task."
"Your Ladyship need only grace me with the details of what you require of this rabble and I shall procure them with glee." His grin was just as oily as his upturned mustache. It may not be advising her on how to acquire the town of Sharlsbark, but recruiter was one step up from scribe. And if his years on the mud caked roads had taught him anything, it was that any distance could be traversed one step at a time.
♦♦──────────────────────────────♦♦──────────────────────────────♦♦
The crack of wood smacking wood rang clearly through the din of the training yard. Where most of her fellow guardsmen would tire out and complain of their arms aching after sparing against training dummies for an hour, Alisoun found it an oddly soothing exercise. The reverberation behind wood striking wood wasn't half so unpleasant as the feel of a hammer striking iron. That used to leave her elbow feeling like rubber. Seven years since she routinely worked in a smithy and still she could never forget that ache.
Her willingness to battle the wooden dummies and re-accomplish sword drills again and again had earned her a mostly private corner of the training grounds. Mostly private. "Alisoun! Just the guard lady I was looking for."
It was with a weary sigh that Alisoun let her arm drop. The wooden training sword stuck tip first into the mud. With a brush of her hand she wiped at the sweat from her forehead and removed a few stray brown hairs from her vivid blue eyes. Not for the first time, she thought of cutting her hair shorter than wear it hung just past her shoulder line. It was only because her brother so adamantly protested every time she brought the subject up that she refrained from having it done. He still had hopes Alisoun would settle down someday.
With a sniff she turned to finally regard the man who had come calling. He stood some twelve paces back, deciding to use a pallet that kept the water barrels from sinking into the mud as a makeshift stage. She already had her best flat, unimpressed guard expression on her face for him. It was best to not give Colyn anything more, lest he were to break into song and dance over what he perceived as a smile. "What do you want Colyn?"
"The world and all her riches. Alas…" The man swooned with a hand up to his forehead. "She has deemed me undeserving of her favor. So I must make do in finding co-conspirators to aid me in wooing her."
Colyn had been entertaining when he first came to city. His odd remarks bringing a chuckle to the dreary everyday life of a simple militiaman. His tales and ramblings grew stale however when you were nursing a three day long hangover and had been standing guard over a door in the rain for six hours. And every low ranking guardsmen got to enjoy that beloved shift at least twice a week. "Co-conspiriting costs a hefty bag and I charge twice that for any wooing."
"Ah never fear my fiscally minded friend. I shall guarantee to make it worth your time and then some." His finger waggled in cadence with his words.
"I want more than guarantees Colyn." Her tone was harsh. The well practiced expression she wore on guard duty slipping as her brow furrowed. The guardsman moved without any conscious thought given to the act. A single menacing step drawing her closer to the well dressed man, the way her jaw set. Nearly imperceptible way her fists tightened as she regarded him. Years spent in the guard had ingrained the body language of intimidation as second nature. The only difference between being a guard and common thuggery from what the Sergeant said was steady pay.
"How does two weeks worth of pay, for an hour of not doing your job strike your fancy?" Alisoun had to disagree with the Sergeant.
It was the on the latter of such trips that Colyn Sansonett, thrice cursed the mud he wade through while answering a summons from the Viscountess. Mayhap in a truly refined city such as Elbrook, the mud would finally desist in plaguing him. The self-proclaimed advisor had heard tell that the streets there were entirely paved with cobbled stone! That unfortunately was not the case here in Claybourne. The city was aptly named after the earthly mineral that mixed with the salty air from the coast to leave a constant sour tang in everyone's nose. Nearly seven months here and it still disturbed Colyn's sensibilities. The next town he hopped off to would be far, FAR away from the coast.
"No, no, no… We're going to do better this time." Colyn chided himself softly, as his thumb and forefinger worked anxiously to curl he edges of his well twirled mustache. There would be no need to skip town this time. This was it. He'd finally landed the perfect role. An advisor to nobility! Here he'd be able to leave a mark on the world! He'd be properly appreciated for his clever ideas and thoughtful soliloquies! His tireless toiling had finally paid off. Now he was getting early morning invitations to the Viscount's chambers. The sun had finally deigned to shine down upon his luck starved life.
He was a noble's advisor, the words repeated in his head again and again as he neared the guarded side door to the Viscount's villa. He certainly looked the part. Dashing dark black hair combed over and completed with a slight curl at the tips. Distinguished mustache curled to give his strong jawline and steel blue eyes maximum sophistication. Behind him trailed the flapping dark black cloak with a counter crimson red underside. His fine attire "acquired" with his employer's blessing from a local tailor. It was a well cut doublet of deep forest green and expensive silver trimmings. His black slacks were pristine and well kept save for the damnable mud near his heels. It was a look stolen directly from Ordo Virtutum, a play he learned during his time with a traveling troupe. In it the Devil would come knocking, looking every bit the well dressed suitor stealing off with the daughters of farmers and wives of happy men.
Ducking his head through the entrance, Colyn made his way through the halls that were slowly becoming familiar. The hard mahogany estate was richly furnished. Carpets of deep reds inscribed with fine embroidery. Plenty of candles to light servants' passages through the halls. Every so often a painting would hang upon the wall, each said to be representing some prior inhabitant of the creaking manor estate. The Grimald family could trace their lineage back over ten generations. A fact Colyn was quite familiar with after he'd spent many a night with cramped hands scribing proof of said lineage. They were old stock who had been about since the founding of the kingdom, yet they had never managed to push their realm of influence past what their clay mines and fisheries could buy them.
The young advisor had finally been able to break down the enigmatic Lady Grimald just the other night. She had plans to see the family finally take that next step. And now it seems she would seek his guidance on how to go about it. With a gentle rapt of the door that barred the servant's entrance to the Grimald's private room, the dark haired conman prepared to put on the performance of his life. This would be it. Here would be the moment he'd point back to when he told his children's children why they were so well off and everyone knew their name.
"Enter." Her voice was soft but stung through the air like a whip. Viscountess Anora Grimald was the epitome of a noble matron. Her once raven hair was all the more distinguished with stark streaks of silver. She bore a strong posture linked to a healthy and firm frame that wrapped in the most fashionable silks. Sharp well maintained eyebrows. In fact her entire face was a collection of sharp features that were highlighted by crisp artistry that brough out her crimson lips and high cheeks.
She didn't immediately look up from whatever it was she was reading in her little nook. There was a small unadorned desk, a comfy looking bench, and several shelves brimming with bottles of various liquids and books. Perhaps tomes would be a more apt descriptor for the works upon the shelves. The phantom of a cramp coursed through Colyn's right hand every time he saw the massive bindings of parchment.
Not having her immediate attention upon greeting the Viscountess was not something Colyn was unaccustomed to. It had become something of a ritual for him to make his own grand entrance before she would acknowledge his presence. Thus, it was that as Colyn entered the room, he stepped into a low obsequious bow, arm trailed out to the side, flaring the cape of his cloak. "My Lady Grimald. I have traveled the weary road to answer your beck and call. How might I be of service." Though his eyes remained firmly on the floor, not a hair so much as twitched as he gave a seemingly sincere and straight faced introduction.
"Mmm, yes. The weary road between here and the Imp. I'm certain your aching feet must be dying for a rest. Perhaps I should fetch another to do my bidding." The matron graced him with a sidelong glance over her reading, brow arched to a devastating point.
"Parish the thought Viscountess. I would sooner eat my shoe than not rise up to any need you have of me!" His voice aghast with just enough dignity to not come across as overtly rude as he rose back up from the bow. With his hand over his heart he looked every bit the stage trouper he had once been.
"Bah. Enough of your dramatics Colyn." The Viscountess spat the words out then proceeded to wave them away as one might a bothersome insect. "I have need of your vapid jawing to acquire rabble I need set to task."
"Your Ladyship need only grace me with the details of what you require of this rabble and I shall procure them with glee." His grin was just as oily as his upturned mustache. It may not be advising her on how to acquire the town of Sharlsbark, but recruiter was one step up from scribe. And if his years on the mud caked roads had taught him anything, it was that any distance could be traversed one step at a time.
♦♦──────────────────────────────♦♦──────────────────────────────♦♦
The crack of wood smacking wood rang clearly through the din of the training yard. Where most of her fellow guardsmen would tire out and complain of their arms aching after sparing against training dummies for an hour, Alisoun found it an oddly soothing exercise. The reverberation behind wood striking wood wasn't half so unpleasant as the feel of a hammer striking iron. That used to leave her elbow feeling like rubber. Seven years since she routinely worked in a smithy and still she could never forget that ache.
Her willingness to battle the wooden dummies and re-accomplish sword drills again and again had earned her a mostly private corner of the training grounds. Mostly private. "Alisoun! Just the guard lady I was looking for."
It was with a weary sigh that Alisoun let her arm drop. The wooden training sword stuck tip first into the mud. With a brush of her hand she wiped at the sweat from her forehead and removed a few stray brown hairs from her vivid blue eyes. Not for the first time, she thought of cutting her hair shorter than wear it hung just past her shoulder line. It was only because her brother so adamantly protested every time she brought the subject up that she refrained from having it done. He still had hopes Alisoun would settle down someday.
With a sniff she turned to finally regard the man who had come calling. He stood some twelve paces back, deciding to use a pallet that kept the water barrels from sinking into the mud as a makeshift stage. She already had her best flat, unimpressed guard expression on her face for him. It was best to not give Colyn anything more, lest he were to break into song and dance over what he perceived as a smile. "What do you want Colyn?"
"The world and all her riches. Alas…" The man swooned with a hand up to his forehead. "She has deemed me undeserving of her favor. So I must make do in finding co-conspirators to aid me in wooing her."
Colyn had been entertaining when he first came to city. His odd remarks bringing a chuckle to the dreary everyday life of a simple militiaman. His tales and ramblings grew stale however when you were nursing a three day long hangover and had been standing guard over a door in the rain for six hours. And every low ranking guardsmen got to enjoy that beloved shift at least twice a week. "Co-conspiriting costs a hefty bag and I charge twice that for any wooing."
"Ah never fear my fiscally minded friend. I shall guarantee to make it worth your time and then some." His finger waggled in cadence with his words.
"I want more than guarantees Colyn." Her tone was harsh. The well practiced expression she wore on guard duty slipping as her brow furrowed. The guardsman moved without any conscious thought given to the act. A single menacing step drawing her closer to the well dressed man, the way her jaw set. Nearly imperceptible way her fists tightened as she regarded him. Years spent in the guard had ingrained the body language of intimidation as second nature. The only difference between being a guard and common thuggery from what the Sergeant said was steady pay.
"How does two weeks worth of pay, for an hour of not doing your job strike your fancy?" Alisoun had to disagree with the Sergeant.
With each thrust of his hips Matty could feel his body tensing. It built from the tendon running from heel to calf. It wound up in his shoulders and down the muscles of his spine. It hardened his grip on her luscious curves, farm worked hands groped with at his hips. Their vice like grip unlike anything he'd have dared used on his precious Eliza before this moment. Her sultry moans, and the way she pleaded for more of him burned through his chest, down his spine and into his soul. They gave his body the will to flex his back and provided him life when his lungs strained for air.
"Gruugh, God damn it… El…" He groaned between ragged breaths as her slick warmth took him in again and again. Her gasps struck him like electricity. The way slid and ground against her walls reverberated through him like thunder. The blissful feel of her skin against his chest was like cool rain that made the storm brewing through him bearable. He took the budding ball of need and built up frustration out upon the poor Southern Belle who writhed under his attention. Each moment tightened his hold on her, forced his hips to drive back into her just that much rougher, inching them closer and closer towards the headboard.
The way she cried out without her hand over her mouth should have given him pause. He should have thought to ease her back down, to quiet her to save them both the embarrassment that would be sure to come were any of her neighbors home. But he didn't care for that possible future, or any future. His whole world wrapped up in that moment with this woman he was sure he'd share the rest of his life with.
All he thought of was pressing upon her that need he had for her. For her breath, her touch, her scent. The inexplicable internal demand that wanted him to crush her beneath his weight. Taking the tightness that licked at the edges of his limbs and stirred in his core and forcing it back into her. She guided and encouraged him, let him know when he struck her just right, filled her up perfectly so that her voice rose and his cock thrummed. With her hips held up he bottomed out again and again trying to go deeper, reach farther and each failure left him just that much more frustrated. His fingers crawled across her as he tried to adjust his grip and find that perfect spot that would satisfy his desire. They worked from her hips and down to her rear, spread her cheeks and crawled up the small of her back. Growls of hunger ripped from his throat as time and again it wasn't quite right. With the force of a man used to breaking livestock, he shifted his grip on her, one hand pinning down her shoulder to the bed while the other kept her hips raised. He kept her there as he drove himself up onto his knees, feet and calves helped give him force as he fucked her sopping sex into the bed, her body folding in on itself.
That slight crescendo of her voice rang out to him like the chorus of the Heavenly Host. The sudden pull that brought him deeper into her only served to draw up a nagging pressure that no longer dissipated within him. He needed more of that. Yearned for it more than he ever had in his life.
But she didn't let him slide out easily now. Every thrust was a contest of strength as he drove back against the claim of her legs. His hips fought to gain the room to pull back and down, and he slowly lost ground. Each thrust was just a little smaller, the tip of his shaft stayed in her touch deeper, rubbed more deeply against the sensitive cluster of nerves in her sex. He fell into a fitful trance as he fought back against both her and the slowly building pressure in his core. Each thrust adding a layer of struggle, a layer of aggression and desire that brought his breaths to struggling gasps. He never registered the tear of the sheets, he didn't feel the wet stain of juices that was pooling under them. The faint click of the apartment door never even crossed his mind as his vision faded around the corners.
All he could see, feel, touch, smell, and desire was her. He bubbled with it. His farm worn fingers worked into her shoulder as he pulled her down against his thrust every bit as forcefully as her legs held him. His husky breath growled directly into her ear as he buried his face into her blonde hair. His teeth scratched against her throat and ear as his lips parted.
A high pitch ringing drove all sound but hers from his ears. The movement of his hips ground to a near halt. He barely moved inside of her now as he kept her snuggled right up to his base. The subtlest of movements that brushed his primed tip right up against her walls. With choked gasps managed, "Eliza… I'm gonna…"
The wound cord that had tightened his entire body snapped. His vision pulled back in as he felt his body convulse, one last torque of his arm pulling her upper half into him. An explosion of pleasure ripped free from his core. His girth twitched inside of her as it flooded the condom between them with his milky white seed. All of which was followed by relief that washed away every ache, tore away at every worry he didn't know he had and left a dull calm over the big man as he felt himself erupt inside Eliza's warmth.
"Nnng… fuckin' gawd…" With a heavy breath Mathew eased his grip on Eliza, his body otherwise completely still as he recovered from the shock of his orgasm. The sensitive head of his till thrummed with ecstasy as he stayed inside. He weight slumping atop the smaller woman as he let her body unfold. He hadn't even noticed the light hum that he had started as his thumb now lovingly brushed over her shoulder. "Mmm… I love you Elizabeth Bates."
With care in his movements, he gently lifted his head, shaft still buried up to the hilt inside the sweet country girl, and gave her a passion burnt kiss. As gentle and soft as an early spring breeze. Afraid of the shocks of electric ecstasy any excessive movements might elicit from his spent member.
"Gruugh, God damn it… El…" He groaned between ragged breaths as her slick warmth took him in again and again. Her gasps struck him like electricity. The way slid and ground against her walls reverberated through him like thunder. The blissful feel of her skin against his chest was like cool rain that made the storm brewing through him bearable. He took the budding ball of need and built up frustration out upon the poor Southern Belle who writhed under his attention. Each moment tightened his hold on her, forced his hips to drive back into her just that much rougher, inching them closer and closer towards the headboard.
The way she cried out without her hand over her mouth should have given him pause. He should have thought to ease her back down, to quiet her to save them both the embarrassment that would be sure to come were any of her neighbors home. But he didn't care for that possible future, or any future. His whole world wrapped up in that moment with this woman he was sure he'd share the rest of his life with.
All he thought of was pressing upon her that need he had for her. For her breath, her touch, her scent. The inexplicable internal demand that wanted him to crush her beneath his weight. Taking the tightness that licked at the edges of his limbs and stirred in his core and forcing it back into her. She guided and encouraged him, let him know when he struck her just right, filled her up perfectly so that her voice rose and his cock thrummed. With her hips held up he bottomed out again and again trying to go deeper, reach farther and each failure left him just that much more frustrated. His fingers crawled across her as he tried to adjust his grip and find that perfect spot that would satisfy his desire. They worked from her hips and down to her rear, spread her cheeks and crawled up the small of her back. Growls of hunger ripped from his throat as time and again it wasn't quite right. With the force of a man used to breaking livestock, he shifted his grip on her, one hand pinning down her shoulder to the bed while the other kept her hips raised. He kept her there as he drove himself up onto his knees, feet and calves helped give him force as he fucked her sopping sex into the bed, her body folding in on itself.
That slight crescendo of her voice rang out to him like the chorus of the Heavenly Host. The sudden pull that brought him deeper into her only served to draw up a nagging pressure that no longer dissipated within him. He needed more of that. Yearned for it more than he ever had in his life.
But she didn't let him slide out easily now. Every thrust was a contest of strength as he drove back against the claim of her legs. His hips fought to gain the room to pull back and down, and he slowly lost ground. Each thrust was just a little smaller, the tip of his shaft stayed in her touch deeper, rubbed more deeply against the sensitive cluster of nerves in her sex. He fell into a fitful trance as he fought back against both her and the slowly building pressure in his core. Each thrust adding a layer of struggle, a layer of aggression and desire that brought his breaths to struggling gasps. He never registered the tear of the sheets, he didn't feel the wet stain of juices that was pooling under them. The faint click of the apartment door never even crossed his mind as his vision faded around the corners.
All he could see, feel, touch, smell, and desire was her. He bubbled with it. His farm worn fingers worked into her shoulder as he pulled her down against his thrust every bit as forcefully as her legs held him. His husky breath growled directly into her ear as he buried his face into her blonde hair. His teeth scratched against her throat and ear as his lips parted.
A high pitch ringing drove all sound but hers from his ears. The movement of his hips ground to a near halt. He barely moved inside of her now as he kept her snuggled right up to his base. The subtlest of movements that brushed his primed tip right up against her walls. With choked gasps managed, "Eliza… I'm gonna…"
The wound cord that had tightened his entire body snapped. His vision pulled back in as he felt his body convulse, one last torque of his arm pulling her upper half into him. An explosion of pleasure ripped free from his core. His girth twitched inside of her as it flooded the condom between them with his milky white seed. All of which was followed by relief that washed away every ache, tore away at every worry he didn't know he had and left a dull calm over the big man as he felt himself erupt inside Eliza's warmth.
"Nnng… fuckin' gawd…" With a heavy breath Mathew eased his grip on Eliza, his body otherwise completely still as he recovered from the shock of his orgasm. The sensitive head of his till thrummed with ecstasy as he stayed inside. He weight slumping atop the smaller woman as he let her body unfold. He hadn't even noticed the light hum that he had started as his thumb now lovingly brushed over her shoulder. "Mmm… I love you Elizabeth Bates."
With care in his movements, he gently lifted his head, shaft still buried up to the hilt inside the sweet country girl, and gave her a passion burnt kiss. As gentle and soft as an early spring breeze. Afraid of the shocks of electric ecstasy any excessive movements might elicit from his spent member.
Just as the half-elf was truly getting used to the foreign, irregular feeling inside of her it was stripped away. At first Alexandria was scared the elf might have something new and cruel to torture her with. Then she was saddened at the lack of pleasuring sensation. The needful rise of her hips, the sway of her waist, attempting to entice some measure of attention. And the attention did then come. The bulbous head of a more familiar shape. The way it filled her, and pressed along her walls so much more lovingly than the crop had. Alex's head rocked back, her entire body contorting as best it could to aid in the toys efforts to push her closer to that edge she had sworn herself off from by the elf's command. Had the half-elf not been so preoccupied she might have questioned why an elven priestess would have such sized toy. But she had no time for such ridiculous thoughts. Her body was a storm of feelings. Her heightened sense completely in control as she was removed of so much else. Each flick of those poor abused purple and swollen nipples, each tug and jerk, twist and squeeze causing the half-elf to bounce about on the floor. She strained like an animal against the ropes. Her back arching again and again as her hips twisted away, flopping about uncontrollably as the dominatrix delighted in sending her from one end of the spectrum to the other.
Moans of passion, screams of pain, guiltless expressions of each easily heard throughout the somewhat private bed chamber of the priestess. As the night wore on she no longer had control over what her body did. A passenger merely along for the ride. A mere spectator in the cruel, loving sensations brought about by Ama'lea. Each time she came so close to her ecstasy laden crescendo of pleasure it was stolen away. Often violently. With screams of pain. Searing jolts of pleasure. The cathartic sessions of weeping in between needful rounds of lusting. Like clay before a potter, Alexandria was putty before Lyra's childhood friend.
Inevitably the feelings became intertwined. The pain expected with the pleasure. The pleasure so intense it became painful. The cracks of the crop along her sensitive and abused clusters provoking joyous screams. Shocks that threatened to push Alexandria towards the edge. The twisted young woman's climax a seeming inevitability in such an environment as she grew closer and closer to the leaping over the edge, less she were left cruelly untouched.
Moans of passion, screams of pain, guiltless expressions of each easily heard throughout the somewhat private bed chamber of the priestess. As the night wore on she no longer had control over what her body did. A passenger merely along for the ride. A mere spectator in the cruel, loving sensations brought about by Ama'lea. Each time she came so close to her ecstasy laden crescendo of pleasure it was stolen away. Often violently. With screams of pain. Searing jolts of pleasure. The cathartic sessions of weeping in between needful rounds of lusting. Like clay before a potter, Alexandria was putty before Lyra's childhood friend.
Inevitably the feelings became intertwined. The pain expected with the pleasure. The pleasure so intense it became painful. The cracks of the crop along her sensitive and abused clusters provoking joyous screams. Shocks that threatened to push Alexandria towards the edge. The twisted young woman's climax a seeming inevitability in such an environment as she grew closer and closer to the leaping over the edge, less she were left cruelly untouched.
There it was. The sudden inevitable chaos that came with every job. It was too much to hope that this job of all the jobs she had ever taken would be the one to go off without a hitch. Even with how gullible the princess had been. Once more that devilish grin swept over Emilly's lips as she gave up the slow crawl they had taken, the horn signaling the start of a sprint.
The half-elf was prepared for the guards in their path. A measly two wasn't going to stop her getting out of here with her prize. The pack of truly dangerous enemies lay behind her, and were moving far too slowly to play apart in what was to come. She was ready for it all except for the sudden rising heat that seemed to emanate from the girl in her arms.
The change of hair color was almost more disturbing. Magic? Nobody ever told me she was magic! It was almost enough of a distraction to cause her to slip up her next step. She didn't know what was going to be coming from the princess yet, but she knew what the guards were capable of and they were one of the very last obstacles in her way.
With a hard shove she dove through the hedgeline, pushing Nydre with all her might at the guard on her left hoping to catch him off guard with the unexpected move, counting on his unwillingness to hurt the princess to effectively neutralize him for a brief moment. Continuing that flow of action once shoved away, coat and all, Emilly brought her hidden knife up and across her body, effectively burying it into the skull of the guard on her right. The blade slipping through the man's eye right up to the hilt.
As the remaining guard caught the princess Em continued to run forward right into the princess's back sending the three of them tumbling to the ground. On the way down, the assassin reached down into her boot drawing another knife, the contact of the ground threatening to jar the weapon from her grip. She rolled with all the furious violence of an animal fighting for its life, beating the armorbound man in terms of reflexes. She scrambled up to her knees shoving her blade up under his chin guard, bursting the blood vessels within and releasing a torrent of hot sticky liquid over her hand and down his chest where the princess had been thrown.
Just as quickly as she had dashed into action the half-elf scrambled to her feet, the wicked grin upon her lips meeting with an expression of confusion and worry as the princess seamed anything but a normal maiden at this point. Still she didn't have time to hesitate. If she didn't finish this job she was a dead woman. There was no running from the situation now that she was in the thick of it. So as always, she barrelled on ahead with the plan, damned be the consequences. Reaching down for the mute woman's wrist Emilly jerked and pulled trying to get the woman up on her feet and running again. "Time to go princess!"
The half-elf was prepared for the guards in their path. A measly two wasn't going to stop her getting out of here with her prize. The pack of truly dangerous enemies lay behind her, and were moving far too slowly to play apart in what was to come. She was ready for it all except for the sudden rising heat that seemed to emanate from the girl in her arms.
The change of hair color was almost more disturbing. Magic? Nobody ever told me she was magic! It was almost enough of a distraction to cause her to slip up her next step. She didn't know what was going to be coming from the princess yet, but she knew what the guards were capable of and they were one of the very last obstacles in her way.
With a hard shove she dove through the hedgeline, pushing Nydre with all her might at the guard on her left hoping to catch him off guard with the unexpected move, counting on his unwillingness to hurt the princess to effectively neutralize him for a brief moment. Continuing that flow of action once shoved away, coat and all, Emilly brought her hidden knife up and across her body, effectively burying it into the skull of the guard on her right. The blade slipping through the man's eye right up to the hilt.
As the remaining guard caught the princess Em continued to run forward right into the princess's back sending the three of them tumbling to the ground. On the way down, the assassin reached down into her boot drawing another knife, the contact of the ground threatening to jar the weapon from her grip. She rolled with all the furious violence of an animal fighting for its life, beating the armorbound man in terms of reflexes. She scrambled up to her knees shoving her blade up under his chin guard, bursting the blood vessels within and releasing a torrent of hot sticky liquid over her hand and down his chest where the princess had been thrown.
Just as quickly as she had dashed into action the half-elf scrambled to her feet, the wicked grin upon her lips meeting with an expression of confusion and worry as the princess seamed anything but a normal maiden at this point. Still she didn't have time to hesitate. If she didn't finish this job she was a dead woman. There was no running from the situation now that she was in the thick of it. So as always, she barrelled on ahead with the plan, damned be the consequences. Reaching down for the mute woman's wrist Emilly jerked and pulled trying to get the woman up on her feet and running again. "Time to go princess!"
"Tsk tsk. It's too late to claim ignorance now." The taller man chided, closing the distance between himself and the woman with only a few steps. In a matter of moments Baran had a hold of her wrist, fingers wrapping tightly around the joint. With a yank he forced her arm out, extending it between them. His opposite hand gruffly pulling up her sleeve as she attempted to retreat. Baran's eyes focused on the now exposed bruise with suspicion. The details of it were so vivid it didn't seem like an illusion. At least if it were, it would have been a particularly well crafted one. With his thumb he pressed down into the joint, eyes flicking from bruised flesh to the woman's face. The needle kept threateningly off to the side in his remaining fingers.
"If you're not a spy what other possible reason would the Council have in sending you, a self proclaimed non-mage, who bares the mark of being recently tested? Hrm? Why did they send you here?" The Arch Mage's voice dropped into a gruff baritone. His furrowed brow sharply lining with accusation as his bright gaze darkened upon her face. His change from light hearted banter to near snarling expression occurring in the breadth of a heartbeat. Baran's own ignorance on the matter sent the tried and tested man into the default aggression that had seen him through a decade of being enemies with one of the most powerful men in the world. He kept himself close to the freckled covered and pale faced young woman, forcing his daunting presence upon her, gladly walking Alice up against a wall should she continue to retreat.
"If you're not a spy what other possible reason would the Council have in sending you, a self proclaimed non-mage, who bares the mark of being recently tested? Hrm? Why did they send you here?" The Arch Mage's voice dropped into a gruff baritone. His furrowed brow sharply lining with accusation as his bright gaze darkened upon her face. His change from light hearted banter to near snarling expression occurring in the breadth of a heartbeat. Baran's own ignorance on the matter sent the tried and tested man into the default aggression that had seen him through a decade of being enemies with one of the most powerful men in the world. He kept himself close to the freckled covered and pale faced young woman, forcing his daunting presence upon her, gladly walking Alice up against a wall should she continue to retreat.
Last edited: