Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Omorashi |Knife play|Body swap

Peter/Daniil

"Peter, let me go." Daniil commanded mildly, "I need to go relieve myself."

Peter ignored him, and clung to Daniil like a limpet.

They both laid in the bed they had shared that night, and Daniil had woken up with his face buried in Peter's chest while he was held like a  child's plush toy. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence when he spent time with the twins to wake up in the arms of one or the other, but with Peter Daniil was never sure how he stood.

Andrey was easy to figure out, but Andrey always made his intentions clear. If he wanted to fight he would fight. If he wanted to fuck he would fuck. He only obfuscated his intentions when he absolutely had to, and those times were both terrifying and often in service of Peter.

It seemed he was plain as a way to balance out his twin's own convoluted nature. 

Peter was either impossible to read or so mercurial that what he wanted five minutes ago was irrelevant to his current desires. Daniil assumed it was a product of Peter's genius or perhaps the cause of it. The only thing that seemed to stop Peter from ascending new heights of greatness was that once he could see the direction of his current actions he grew bored with it and moved on to something new.

Inversely it meant getting Peter to stop when he didn't want to was nearly impossible.

Daniil really needed to pee, and Peter only held him tighter.

Hoping Peter just wanted to hold something in his sleep Daniil tried to wedge a pillow between them and squirm out of his hold. Peter's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Daniil with mild interest.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to escape to the water closet." Daniil huffed, sending his hair fluttering out of his face.

Peter's lips curled into a lazy smile. "I didn't say you could leave."

"Well I'm going to have to."

Peter threw the pillow across the room, and then rolled on top of Daniil. Daniil struggled under the pin, and he was reminded that Peter was almost as strong as Andrey. It would have been thrilling if Daniil wasn't focused on the pain of holding it in.

Peter stared Daniil in the eyes in the unsettling way of a cat. "You're not leaving until I say you can."

"Yes I am unless you want me to soil the bed." Daniil said, but any other argument was lost as he saw the twinkle in Peter's eyes. "Oh, no."

Daniil then struggled under Peter in earnest, and for a moment he sat up about to escape. Peter threw his weight on top of Daniil, and to his humiliation he felt a little trickle. "Let me go!"

Peter's predatory smile put Andrey to shame, as he shoved his thigh between Daniil's legs. "No," he answered calmly, and with one hand holding Daniil down by the chest he used the other to put pressure on Daniil's bladder, "You are beautiful like this."

Daniil had his hands on Peter's shoulder, ready to push him off, but he stopped trapped as much under Peter's gaze as his hands.

"Your flush of shame, the tremble of your body as you try to hold it, the glimmer of perspiration on your face." Peter described dreamily, and leaned down to lick one of Daniil's tears of frustration. "I want to watch you cry as your crotch becomes soaked with piss."

Daniil shook his head feeling nauseous from embarrassment as he started getting hard. It was bad enough to have his humiliation described to him in loving detail, but to get off on it was worse.

"None of that!" Peter hissed as he looked down to where Daniil stiffened against his thigh. He didn't want an erection ruining his fun so Peter slapped Daniil's prick hard enough to startle.

With the shock of pain the warm trickle became a hot rush of piss soaking Daniil's sleep pants. The flannel darkened and became heavy with urine, and the weight of it molded around Daniil's thighs and prick.

Peter gnawed on his lip, and grabbed Daniil's balls to massage them through the pee soaked fabric. He panted like a dog on a hot day as he teased Daniil back into the turgid state that had offended him moments before.

He draped himself back over Daniil with his hair hanging like a curtain hiding their perverse expressions from the world around them, but Peter's hair couldn't stop the acrid stench of Daniil's piss from diffusing through the room. The smell was so powerful it stung Daniil's nose even though his humiliated sobs had caused mucus to drain and practically drown him.

"Andrey is right." Peter whispered like a secret. "You play prim and proper, but you crave to be brought down. To be made nothing more than a little boy who wet the bed, and then let your playmate bugger you soaked in your own piss."

Chapter Text

Human Furniture | Sounding | MicroMacro

Lara/Block

Yulia had taught Lara many things about the body and its joys. More importantly she had taught her how the mind was just as important as the body when it came to such pleasures. Sometimes Lara missed those times, but they were terrible for each other outside of the bedroom. They were both prone to dark moods, and very good at dragging the other down with them.

Lara had been a blushing virgin when she met Yulia, but now she was experienced and quite creative. Even though she still blushed.

So when Sasha, who was courting her in the strangest twist of Lara's strange life, felt his guilt too deep and Lara couldn't give anything but righteous anger; she used that experience to deal out punishments that satisfied both of them.

Today was one such day, and Sasha wore nothing to protect himself from the cold or Lara's eyes. Bare for her to witness at his most vulnerable.

He stayed perfectly still on all fours with military discipline, the only movement the slow steady rise and fall of his breathing that Lara hardly felt as she sat on his handsomely sculpted back.

She was fully dressed as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if she was sitting on a normal ottoman and not a formal general's back.

Lara had her legs crossed in front of her, and with care she cleaned her nails and did her weekly sensible manicure. 

Absent-mindedly she would occasionally stop and run her fingers through Sasha's hair, and scratch his scalp until she could feel a groan under her. Afterwards she took her white nail paste and started buffing again.

Chapter Text

Fisting | Medical Play | Orgasm Denial

Daniil/Artemy

"Subject 247, known as Artemy Burakh, is 27 years old, male, hair brown, eyes grey," Daniil began as he carefully put on his medical gloves. "Weight approximately 100 kg, height 188 cm. Exact measurements are uncertain as the subject behaved in a belligerent manner and had to be restrained for safety."

The subject in question glared back from where he was tied to the examination bed. Leather cuffs held his wrists to his sides and his ankles to the beds stirrups. Artemy had fought against them initially even when Daniil had tightened the large leather strap across his chest, but he had worn himself out, perhaps prematurely. 

Daniil listed off the restraints used, as if he had an assistant dictating for him and ignored the rage Artemy's expression betrayed. "A gag was also fitted when subject 247 attempted to bite."

It was then that Daniil looked down at Artmey with a cruel smile, he enjoyed treating Artmey like an experiment to test and take apart at his own leisure. He even rested his hand on Artemy's bare shoulder were his hospital gown had bunched up in his struggles, and gently stroked with twisted affection.

"Today's goal is to test the subjects sensitivity to stimulation, and take some accurate measurements." Daniil explained, and then walked down to the foot of the bed. He pulled out one of the hand cranks and with a grunt used it forcing Artemy's head lower and his legs higher. It made it harder to see what Daniil was doing, sending a pulse of fear into Artemy as the man's head was blocked by the gown covering his legs.

All he could do was listen and feel the quiet thudding of beds manual machinery, and then the creak of another wench as the stirrups now moved forcefully spreading Artemy's legs wide exposing his lower bits to the Bachelor's mercy.

When Daniil stood so Artemy could see him once again. Artmey fought the desire to hide his face in embarrassment and he watched as Daniil folded back the hospital gown. First it exposed his hairy thighs, and then his genitals to the room's cold air. 

Daniil ran his hand against the grain of Artmey's leg hair, setting it up on end, before petting it back down. He repeated this motion with each upward stroke getting closer to Artmey's groin like a teasing lover and not the crazed scientist he was. 

It felt good in a way that Artmey wasn't used to. Even intimate moments he enjoyed were often rushed and lacked the sensual tease he experienced under the Bachelor's hands. 

By the time Daniil's thumbs brushed against Artmey's scrotum his cock was no longer laying placidly between his legs. It wasn't at full attention, but it had risen enough to lay along his hip. Daniil forgoed the downward trace of his hands, and cupped Artemy's sack with tender care. His cock twitched with another rush of blood, and Artemy shut his eyes tight with shame.

"Gentle stimulation shows promise." Daniil noted, and continued to play gently with Artmey's balls. "Subject 247's penis has swollen to nearly a full erection with minimal work, and displaying great virility. Future studies should investigate if a more insistent treatment or even pain produces a similar result."

Artemy ground his teeth into the gag. He wasn't going to let Daniil just treat him like an animal in a lab, but he wasn't going to thrash around this time. Slowly he rotated his wrist in the leather strap hoping to get it to stretch.

Daniil behaved as if he was oblivious, and covered the palm of his hand with surgical lubricant. The shock of the cool grip on his cock immediately halted Artemy's escape attempt.

Artemy threw back his head and his nostrils flared as he tried to control his breathing and his impulse fuck into Daniil's fist. His control didn't matter with his hips tied down there was little he could do, but it was a matter of pride.

There was no tease in the way Daniil stroked his cock, but he wasn't rough either. It appeared that he meant it when he said had plans for later.

The even strokes built tension, and Artmey's cock filled even more until it was red and swollen. On the upward strokes Daniil could hardly stretch the foreskin over the head.

Artemy ignored the tears gathering in his eyes, and renewed his efforts in stretching the leather cuffs. They cut deep red marks into his skin that burned with each tug, and the chains clicked against the bed frame. Tears fell and Artmey's nose started to run, and he found it difficult to breath around the gag. 

Then Daniil took his hands off Artmey, and left his painful erection to rest dripping on his stomach.

Artmey couldn't stop his muffled whine of relief. For a moment he was left alone with his shame, and then there was cool pressure against his dick making him jump.

"208 millimeters." Daniil rattled off. "Very impressive."

He then set aside the ruler he held to Artmey's cock, and pulled out a stopwatch. "Now to test endurance."

Chapter Text

Incest | Breath play | Leather/Latex

Eva Yan/Andrey 

As a child Eva loved to see how long she could hold her breath.

At first it was a contest between friends to see who could hold it the longest. It was a fun game like any other. It was no different from jumping rope, or spinning until she grew dizzy and fell.

Then to prove she was better at it than the boy down the road she held it beyond the burn in her lungs, beyond the point the world spun around her. She held it until the world went white, and she flew.

Seconds later she woke up on the ground with all the kids staring down at her with worry and she giggled.

The adults forbid her from playing the game again.

So she started playing in secret with a pocket watch she found in a cache, and she had been so thrilled to find it she left three whole walnuts. Then at home she held her breath counting the seconds to see how long she could last. It was her secret game, and she never told anyone afraid the adults would stop her again.

Then she grew up, and caught the eye of Andrey.

She couldn't deny that he was rough around the edges, because it was what attracted her to him. Eva never thought about something as silly as taming him. It was a thrill to be around a man who in seconds could turn into an animal. Andrey could be a philosopher one moment and wild the next, and when he would pin her to the wall with one hand around her neck she would hold her breath in giddy excitement. Then he would kiss her breath away, but to her disappointment his hand never squeezed.

She had seen him fuck a man more than once, and it was always brutal in a way that made the core of her ache with need. Yet when Eva tried to convince Andrey to hold her tighter it was never as bruising as she wanted. He wasn't gentle with her, but he was gentler.

Eva couldn't convince him that she wanted to wear a necklace of his finger prints, and it left her longing for more.

Chapter Text

Double penetration in two holes | Boot Worship | Lactation 

Captain Ravel/ Block

It had started with Captain Ravel taking the junior officer under his wing. Teaching him how to move among the other officers, who to talk to, who to listen to.

There were even the more practical lessons, like how to move his men on the field, and what to look for in the middle of battle.

But walking and talking like an officer wasn't enough. Block had to look like he belonged on top, and that started with his boots.

Block had thought he took care of them well, but Ravel saw a place to improve. When he had seen that Sasha's kit was made up of an old sock and a small jar of polish Nikolai had tisked.

The next week Nikolai gave the younger man a fine wooden box containing two horse hair brushes, a cotton cloth, leather conditioner, and a tin of shoe cream and shoe wax.

He had shown Sasha each step to making his boots shine so bright he could see his reflection in them, and now in return even though Nikolai had a batman to do the job Sasha would tend to his boots with reverence.

He knelt at the feet of a man he usually had to look down on, and rested the man's boot on his naked thigh. Sasha knew his older lover just liked to see his body on display, but the pretense was that he didn't want to ruin his pants.

With the small circular horse hair brush he applied the conditioner into the black leather, and set Nikolai's foot down so he could do the same on the other boot while he let the first one absorb the conditioner to keep it soft and flexible.

A soldier's boots were his life, and even an officer's boots took more abuse than a layman's. The cream he applied next would help improve the shine and add a protective layer around the shoe without being so stiff it would crack. He dipped his already ink stained fingers in the black cream and massaged along the boot adding thin layers on top of thin layers. He rubbed along Nikolai's ankles and up his calves before going down to the top of the shoe, and carefully making sure to attend to every bend and diviot.

After applying the cream polish he buffed it with the larger rectangular brush. He had seen men in the capital armed with two of them buff shoes with incredible speed and skill, but Sasha could only provide diligence and devotion. Each swipe of the brush pushed the polish deeper into cracks and holes the eye couldn't see, until there was a pleasant shine.

Then he took out the wax and added more layers of polish, but this polish, while more protective, was also harder. It wouldn't bend with the more flexible parts of the shoe, but would crack and cause a different kind of damage. So he put it on the edge of the soul and the toe of the boot. The harder places that didn't bend, but would receive more abuse.

The whole time he worked Nikolai watched his every move hungerly. The muscles of Sasha's shoulders and back were displayed as he buffed the shoe with vigor. They stretched and contracted in a display that hinted at the strength that could easily toss the smaller Nikolai on the bed. Instead Sasha was prone before him in both service and submission.

With diligent work Sasha eventually saw his reflection looking up at him from the tips of Nikolai's boots. He then put away the tools with care. Reverent of care Nikolai had shown him in giving him such a gift.

Then with hands on his thighs preparing to stand Sasha felt the tip of Nikolai's boots under his chin. With a small nudge the toe tip tilted Sasha's gaze to meet Nikolai's, and teasingly Nikolai pushed the toe against his neck.

Mesmerized like a mouse staring up at a snake he swallowed, feeling his Adam's apple push against the leather soul, and Nikolai's praise was the sweetest gift. "Thank you, my sweetboy."

Chapter Text

Free Use | Sensory Deprivation | Wax Play

Yulia/Lara

Lara's behind was a masterpiece. There were other traits of Lara's, and not just physical ones, that Yulia loved, but Lara's butt was pale and curved so perfectly it could have been carved out of marble. When smacked it bounced and jiggled just right, and where it met the thighs there was cellulite that Lara would hate to know about but Yulia delighted in.

This is why Yulia loved having Lara bent over the arm of the chair, to see it in all its glory. Her thighs were pressed together hiding her pussy, and when Yulia was ready to play with the wet folds and dark hair she would just have to kick Lara's legs apart. She wouldn't complain about the rough treatment, but would gasp wantonly. Lara rarely spoke unless a question was asked. Too shy to express her desires verbally with Yulia. She still looked up at her with stars in her eyes at the worldly Capital women, and was in awe she even gave the Captain's daughter the time of day.

Yulia didn't mind the hero worship. Not when it gave her this view on a weekday afternoon, and it was about to get a lot prettier.

As a smoker she was always armed with matches, and lit a modest white candle. She waited for the wax to start melting, and then put a steadying hand on Lara's lower back.

Holding the white candle over Lara's behind, Yulia held her breath in anticipation. She only tilted the candle a little, and a bead of melted wax hung for a moment before gravity called it.

Just a single small drop splashed on Lara, and more from surprise than pain she arched back with a hiss escaping her lips.

Beautiful

Yulia then let more wax rain Lara's skin. Little white splashes quickly covered her ass, and underneath the pale skin grew rosey from the heat. Lara submitted perfectly, and laid there with her face buried in the chair cushion. It couldn't muffle her little whimpers and moans, and part of Yulia wished Lara's hair didn't hide her face like a curtain.

Drip Drip Drip

Yulia lowered the candle so that the heat would be more intense, and this time Lara kicked her legs up with her ankles crossed. She did it again in an almost rocking motion pressing her thighs tighter together and gasped. Lara was trying to get pressure on her cunt without touching or begging verbally.

"You little whore." Yulia broke the silence with a cross between condemnation and praise.

Lara turned her head back, eyes wide, and protested. "I'm not-"

"I know what you want." Yulia scratched her nails over the wax, and small flakes popped off. Then she shoved Lara's legs apart, and roughly fucked two fingers into her.

Lara wailed.

Chapter Text

Rimming | Breeding | Tentacles

Vlad Jr./???

After they started digging the well Vlad Jr began having strange dreams.

At first all there was only a warm dark place, but each night he could remember new details.

It was dark, warm, and humid like a sauna. Then he could feel the ground like soft flesh beneath him.

He was rocked gently in this place, enveloped by its flesh, and pulled into a misguided sense of security.

Each night the dream progressed.

The underground flesh wrapped around more and more of Vlad's body. It caressed and soothed him as both mother and whore, and every night it became more sensual.

The flesh smelled like freshly butchered meat, and he couldn't ignore it when he started to caress his cheek leaving bloody trails that quickly grew tacky.

Then one night a tendril slid between his lips. It was unexpected, but Vlad didn't know what to expect in these dreams. It grew bigger in his mouth, and ran along his tongue and soft palate. It tasted like raw beef, and made his lips tingle with the same pleasure as kissing.

If this was a kiss, it was more one sided than Vlad was used to. The tendrel went from exploring, to dominating, and then it started pumping in and out of Vlad's mouth.

Vlad whimpered around the meat tentacle fucking his mouth. He was unable to move wrapped in the earth's embrace, and it forced its way deeper.

He gagged from the tentacle as it violated his throat, and writhed in the pulsing embrace of the earth.

Vlad woke up in the shack, his chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. Reluctantly he rolled to his side on the cot, and stared at the well. Everything was normal, except for the way Vlad's cock strained against his pants.

He vowed to never sleep there again.

That night he broke his vow.

Chapter Text

Menophilia | Casting Couch | Bukkake

Chapter Text

Pegging | Emetophilia | Clone sex/Selfcest

Anna Angel/Anna Angel

Anna didn't drink twyrine. She didn't want or need visions the way Peter seemed to, and when she did it was like looking in the mirror.

"Blonde?! You chose blonde?" Anna sneered down at herself, "You know blonde hair doesn't work on you. It makes you look like a whore almost as much as that make up does."

Sneering back Anna was prepared to slap herself, but she moved faster and grabbed her jaw, smearing her lipstick down the side of her face.

"Or maybe you are studying under the clown again. He always liked dressing you up like his little clown daughter. Taught you to fall without hurting yourself, or at least he taught you not to cry about it." She smiled cruelly, "Or at least gave you better things to cry about."

"I hate you!" Anna screeched back and pushed her away.

She only stumbled for a moment, and then crushed Anna to the wall. Their lips so close she could feel the air move as she spoke. "I'm all you have and better than you deserve."

Her double then looked at where the makeup on her face was bleeding. She pulled back just enough to lick her thumb, and wipe away some of the eye makeup. 

"That's what you're hiding!" Anna flaunted her discovery, "Crows feet, you are getting old Anna, and that means losing your value."

She pinched Anna's stomach through her clothes, "Not that you had much anyway. It's why you stayed with the circus. They never could get a good price for you, so you had to stay with the freaks."

"Let's see how bad it's gotten." Anna grabbed her collar and just pulled it apart sending the button flying, and tore her top with more strength than she should have had.

Eyes wet she pushed herself away again. "Stop it! Stop it you beast! You have no right!"

She stumbled and started to run, but then a deep voice behind her boomed. "Don't you run from me little Angel, or it's just going to be worse."

Anna stopped and stood with her lip quivering.

Anna hugged herself from behind, and shoved her gloved hand under her shirt to grab one of her small breasts. "You know better than to run from inspection." She whispered, and pinched Anna's nipple. "You always liked inspection anyway, so quick to spread yourself for the ringmaster. Showing him what you learned from the contortionist."

Her hand slid down over Anna's corset, and then under her shirt to tug down her pants. "You wanted to prove you had some worth even as ugly as you are, and you did."

"All you had to do was lure children into the same fate." Her smile against her ear was cruel, "An ugly siren luring in the children with her song, only to terrify them when they saw your wretched face."

"Sometimes you'd distract the parents instead. Sure the voice was nice, but a married man doesn't care how ugly you are if you're on all fours. Nothing like a hot cunt to distract a man when his children are being taken right under his nose." 

Anna slid her fingers between the now exposed thatch if brown hair, and found the pink lips of her sex with a gently carress. Then she forcefully shoved two fingers up into her, like an uncaring brute of a patron. Her comfort wasn't even a question. 

On stage she was a marionette with her strings pulled by others. In bed she was a limp doll to rut against.

Either way she was just a toy.

Anna couldn't hold back the sniffling sob, and she grabbed her own hair roughly to twist her head to the side so Anna could stand cheek to cheek with herself.

She didn't stop her rough finger fucking, but cooed in a gentle tone, "Don't cry, you know it was the ringmaster's favorite song."

Chapter Text

Mommy/Daddy kink | Somnophilia | Scissoring

Captain Ravel/Block

Ravel loved his old brownie camera. It was excessively simple, pretty much a child's toy compared to most cameras, but its box shape and lack of moving parts ment it traveled well. He didn't have to worry about it getting damaged if he was sent to the front lines, and the little photos he could get from it were easier to carry along as well. Many never developed well, but that just made each one that did all the more precious.

It was easier to photograph a still subject, and sometimes the army captain had to add a little something to someone's drink to get them to comply.

Any guilt he could have had melted away with the satisfaction of seeing his young Lieutenant melt into his seat. It was the only way to describe how he relaxed bit by bit until his glass hung loosely in his hand and started snoring lightly.

Ravel brushed his knuckles against the stubble on Sasha's chin and up his jaw. The only disappointment in his quiet exploration was that he didn't get to see his sweet boy blush at the attention. 

He had all night to do what he wished, and even if Sasha woke up he wouldn't remember in the morning. Still Ravel was hurried with excitement as he undressed Sasha and prepared the scene.

Sasha's massive size made it all the more complicated for Ravel, but it made him feel all the more powerful. It didn't matter that he was over a head taller than him. He was a doll that Ravel could pose as he wished.

The first set of photos had Sasha only partially undressed. Not overly scandalous, and more to tease himself than anything else.

The next set was done with Sasha in only his underclothes. Ravel took his time posing and feeling him up. He enjoyed rubbing Sasha's glorious prick through his underwear and watching it strain obscenely against the fabric.

"Sir?" Sasha mumbled with his eyes barely open, "What are you doing?"

Ravel's heart thudded in his chest with excitement, even though he knew his boy wouldn't remember. The thrill of being caught and the desire to simply break Sasha was suffocating.

"I'm playing with my favorite toy, Sasha" Ravel told him, and unbuttoned his underwear. It only took a bit of teasing to pull Sasha's cock out

When Sasha stayed quiet, Ravel assumed he had fallen back asleep. He leisurely stroked Sasha deciding if he wanted to take photos of himself fucking Sasha's mouth, but then he saw an empty bottle of alcohol and smiled.

"Can we kiss?" Sasha asked in a sleepy voice, and Ravel laughed.

"Of course." Leaning down he kissed his boy, and then grabbed the bottle of liquor.

Chapter Text

Watersports | Temperature Play | Stockings

Stakh/Artemy

Stakh had Artmey pinned to their bed with Artmey's thighs hugging his torso. They were both holding each other's faces, kissing each other like ravenous hounds eating a steak. Each kiss was desperate and messy, and they used their teeth as much as their lips.

Stakh grunted and groaned into Artemy's mouth, and groped him more aggressively than normal. His natural tendency in bed was to serve his partner, but seeing Artemy dressed like this had flipped a switch inside him. 

He had walked in on Artemy as he put on a narrow woman's shoe with a small heel. If that had been all it would have just been strange, but Artemy was dressed in an almost complete set of a lady's under garments. Artemy's strong angular body had been softened by white lace. He wore a chemise, bloomers, and a corset that pushed his pecs up and his love handles down giving his body a hint of roundness. 

If that had been all Artemy wore, Stakh wasn't sure if he would have been affected the same way. Artemy dressed in women's undergarments should have been comical. Artemy was built for leather not lace, but when Stakh saw how the silk stockings hugged Artemy's legs it lit a fire inside him.

Artemy had only one of his shoes buckled when Stakh pounced, and the loose one clattered to the floor when Artemy wrapped his legs around Stakh's hips. Like a rutting beast Stakh ground his hips against Artemy's, and broke their vicious kiss.

Stakh's lips shined with spit and swollen red, but he growled when he realized Artemy's lips weren't just kiss-bruised but artificially stained red like a loose woman. He was a sight to see panting beneath Stakh, and he hardly knew where to look or touch, but he kept thinking back to the stockings.

"Do you like them?" Artemy asked as Stakh rubbed his hands up and down the silk stockings entranced by the soft fabric.

He didn't answer verbally. If he thought too hard about it he would second guess himself, and back out like a coward. Instead he pushed one of Artmey's legs to his chest, and rubbed his cheek against the stockings. Stakh's stubble caught against the black silk. Rough and smooth, hard and soft: a decadent contrast of sensations.

The stockings even had delicate blue flowers embroidered on them. A sweet little detail that shouldn't have fit in the lives of two men who were anything but sweet or little.

The wet sound of lubricant interrupted Stakh's worship, and for the first time he noticed there was a slit at the bottom of the bloomers. A design choice born out of practicality, but now it was obscene. Stakh couldn't see much. Artemy's wrist and the loose material blocked his view, but the wet sounds of Artemy fingering himself open had Stakh biting his lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise.

Impatiently Artemy dug the heel of his shoe into Stakh's side, as if he was an unruly stallion. "Don't just stand there. Fuck me."

Chapter Text

Feet | Shotgunning | Dacryphiliia

Daniil/Rubin

"Hands on the headboard." Daniil ordered, and Rubin, built to serve, grabbed the headboard's iron bars.

The giant man beneath Daniil was completely bare to him in contrast to Daniil being still completely dressed. The only clothing Daniil didn't wear were his coat and shoes, but on the bed both would be impractical. Rubin barely fit in the bed on his own, and no matter how much smaller Daniil was he didn't need the excess bulk his coat gave him when balancing on top.

As for his shoes it was simply rude to put them on the sheets.

Daniil caressed his knuckles against Rubin's cheek, "Good boy," and then slithered down his body.

His gloved hands toured the plains and hills of Rubin's body. His stomach was a valley, because he often forgot to eat more than the bare minimum. His thighs, hills of strength to support his still large mass. His cock even soft was immensely impressive, with the head bare, and a small almost invisible scar.

Still Daniil traveled down until he cupped one of Rubin's calves and set one foot in his lap.

Daniil never had much thought about feet outside of the basic medical ailments. He didn't know if Rubin's feet were considered attractive by the standards of society, and he didn't particularly care.

They were, like the rest of Rubin's body, huge. His toes curled in on themselves, most likely due to never having properly fitting shoes, and Daniil had to spread his fingers wide to fit them between his toes. With his other hand he held Rubin's ankle still, and then pushed, stretching the man's foot.

Rubin rewarded Daniil with a grunt, and he watched Daniil with half hooded eyes.

Adjusting his grip Daniil then pulled Rubin's toes towards him, and again Rubin grunted with a mixture of pain, pleasure, and most importantly release.

Even if Rubin took the time to properly care for himself Daniil knew there would still be a great deal of tension in the man's feet. As thrilling as it was to have a man who towered over everyone to submit so easily for him, Daniil could tell it took a toll on his body.

The feet took the brunt of it, the fallen arches just one of the signs, and if Daniil could take even a fraction of the weight Rubin carried he would. But even if Rubin could, he wouldn't let Daniil do such a thing.

Instead Daniil did what he could to help make his burden more barrable, and if it meant he learned little secrets, such as Rubin's ticklish spots or that sucking on his toes made him writhe in pleasure, it was more than worth it. 

Chapter Text

Body Worship | Spanking | Frottage

Saburov/Rubin

"I understand the Kain's forgave you, but their forgiveness was empty." Saburov told Rubin, as he rubbed the man's back.

The sight was comical. Rubin, a man who towered over all, was draped over the lap of the much more slight Governor Saburov. His pants and underwear were pulled down to his ankles, and Saburov rubbed his hand over the lower part of Rubin's back. Rubin was positioned like an overgrown child on the lap of their stern father.

"You are a good man, Stanislav Rubin." Saburov praised, and then struck Rubin across his milky white backside twice. "You understand the importance of the rod."

Three more strikes and the pale flesh grew warm beneath Saburov's hand. "You desecrated a body. Broke the order of not just the town but nature itself."

It was the words themselves, not the next several strikes that made Rubin gasp wetly. The pain was nothing compared to the pain he had experienced in the past, but the word struck true.

Saburov rubbed the warm skin with his hand, easing the pain, and then picked up the belt on the side table. "Dankovsky and the Kain's think your reasoning is enough to excuse your actions. We know better."

He wrapped the belt around his hand, and slammed it down across Rubin's backside. It cracked with each hit to the skin, and Rubin sobbed as red welts began to mark him.

"We cannot let disorder take over." Saburov's lecture now had a breathy quality to it. "No matter how noble the reason the law was broken. You must be punished."

Several more strikes of the belt, and Rubin closed his tear filled eyes. "Thank you."

Another strike and leather cut flesh, and Rubin whimpered. Saburov stopped, and gingerly touched the welt testing the injury.

"We must stop." Saburov announced, and would deny any feelings of reluctance.

"Is that all?" Rubin asked brokenly, and Saburov could see it. The sins ran deep, and he had only begun to excise them.

Like a father comforting a child he rubbed Rubin's back once more. "The town needs doctors, and I will not break you while you are needed."

Dejectedly Rubin nodded in understanding.

"I understand your need for absolution." Saburov bit his lower lip as excitement bubbled inside, "When this is over, come back to me and I will help you atone. You took a belt well, but I think for such a serious crime we need to use the whip."

Chapter Text

Cuckold | Face Sitting | Collaring

Victor + Nina/Peter/Andrey

Victor's study shared a wall with Nina and his bedroom. The wall wasn't thin, but when he sat his chair against it, and the other occupants were loud he could hear them.

His wife never muted her pleasure. He could hear Nina's cries echoing through the Crucible, and Victor closed his eyes letting her satisfaction wash over him.

She screamed in a rising tempo and pitch, telling Victor that she was not just being fucked but fucked well.

He could also hear the deeper grunts of two men, whose voices were almost identical. It might have been his imagination that he could tell the difference between the twins through the wall, but he liked to think one had a more dreamy quality to his grunts and sighs and the other a sharper edge.

Part of him wanted to see how Nina's architects pleased her. Did they take her like a pair of thugs, untamed and nearly as wild as herself? Or were they more methodical, turning their reality bending genius to the pursuit of bringing his wife pleasure. Victor didn't know if they needed skill to perform their duty to the Mistress, they were a pleasure enough to look at that their effort could be minimal.

The Stamatin's were in many ways exactly what Victor wasn't, young, strong, and handsome in a classical way. Georgiy had already drafted multiple ideas of how to commemorate Andrey's form in marble, and Peter had an alien genius that reminded Victor of Simon. The twins were extraordinary in ways that reminded Victor of how mundane he was for a Kain.

Like a foundation Victor was solid and stable the way the other Kain's we're not, and from him they reached higher and higher to the heavens.

Nina herself was reaching new hights with the twins. Her voice rocked the Crucible as she reached what Victor guessed to be her second peak. The night was young and his wife liked to pace herself when she indulged, but if the Stamatin s didn't manage to bring his wife to orgasm at least once more he would be disappointed in them.

Until then he waited patiently for Nina's summons, and if he was good Nina would let him crawl between her legs at the end of the night. There he would suffocate himself in her thighs, and clean the mess the twins left with his tongue.

For now he listened and waited.

Chapter Text

Prostitution | Armpit | Massage 

Daniil/Many

Daniil spent less time performing research at Thanatica than he spent raising money to fund Thanatica, and most of that time was spent meeting with women around the capital.

Their husbands were too busy with business and war, but Daniil's smile charmed them as they dined and danced.

He made them feel special and noticed, and wove tails about how their contributions to the cause would be remembered. He didn't need to fake enthusiasm when speaking about his work at Thanatica, and the women were desperate for the attention of a handsome man.

Daniil dressed smartly and accepted invitations to tea with upper middle class ladies and their friends. They told him of their pretty daughters looking for a handsome respectable man.

They giggled and raised their skirts when Daniil knelt to pick a pen off the floor, and Daniil stayed on his knees and suffocated himself between their thighs.

Above him their gasps were muffled, and they pretended he wasn't even there as they ate and chatted amongst themselves. 

Only the way they soaked his face, and clenched on his tongue and fingers showed him they noticed at all. Then he would pull back and arrange her petticoats neatly, and another white gloved hand would become him between another set of thighs.

Sometimes it was only a couple of ladies, and other times it was a half dozen, but eventually Daniil would find his pen. Then he would straighten his cravat, and climb to his seat and gently dab a handkerchief to his damp cheek.

A week later Thanatica would receive generous donations, but Daniil was already at another party, smiling at another lady past her prime with money to spare.

Chapter Text

Fucking machine | Feederism | Intercrural sex

Daniil/Artemy 

"Subject 247 still requires restraints-"

Artemy rolled his head back on the cot, and idly tongued the gag in his mouth. He had no idea how long this had gone on. He had been transferred from white room to white room, and tied down to experience one sexual torture after another.

The dark haired man had been the only person he'd seen for as long as he could remember. The orderlies now just a blur of features in his mind.

It was getting hard to hold on, and he wasn't even sure what he was holding on to anymore. The gag felt less like a punishment for biting and more like the gift of something different that he could control how he interacted with it.

The medical bed thunked around him, and he felt his legs one again spread open to the man before him. It was an inconvenience. Privacy was something forgotten to him. The man would play with him to his heart's content, and struggling proved useless.

The man continued his rambling, and Artmey watched as some kind of piston was wheeled over. It took his mind a long time to process that his captor was lubricating some kind of phallic instrument at the end of it. Thinking felt difficult, but he could easily guess what was happening next.

Artemy's grown out hair fluttered around him when he tossed his head back. It was pushed into him with any of the give that fingers or a natural cock would. The stretch burned, and he waiting hanging off it until he noticed the dark haired man's hand.

He was petting Artemy's hair absentmindedly, and when Artemy looked up to him he stopped. He then wiped the drool from Artmey's face with his gloved hands, and said. "Let's see how you react to my friend's invention."

The dildo pushed into Artemy, and then with the hiss of machinery slowly pulled out again. The machinery cluncked and hissed, and after the man fused with it more it pumped the dildo rhythmically into Artmey. It was rough and unstoppable the way progress often was, and Artmey closed his eyes to the force of the mechanical beast as it fucked him.

Grunts were forced out of him with each thrust, and the whole table shook from the vibrations of the machine itself. There was no question whether Artmey was hard or not. The man knew how to get him to full mast during each session. The mystery was would this be when Artemy broke. He still had a sense of self after everything, but as pleasure mounted and he could do nothing to fight it seemed smaller and smaller.

Above him brown eyes watched and waited.

Chapter Text

Three (or more) some | Master/Slave | Titfucking

Taya/Vlad Jr.

In the Termetery pit Vlad Jr. held his arms over his head to protect himself when the rocks rained down from above. Then to his surprise his father pushed him to the ground, and shielded him from the worst.

Vlad Sr. didn't say a word to his son as he looked down at him, and rock thudded against flesh. He just held a look of determination until a rock struck his bald head, and the burning defiance faded from his eyes.

The large mass of his father collapsed on him, and there was no way for Vlad Jr. to force the large man off him. He could only hold onto his father's lapels as stones were thrown and count every last breath his father made.

Only when the mob calmed did anyone notice that Vlad Jr. survived, and the worm lifted him to the air with one hand squeezing his neck. In the place between awake and dreaming, life and death, as black curtains fell over his eyes a young voice yelled. "Stop! I want him."

The next few days were a blur. He was half dragged to an abandoned Kin village and stripped of his clothes and placed in rags, and then the sky grew dark. The stars were hidden by the heads of great aurochs, and Vlad was in a world he didn't belong in.

Taya, who seemed smaller than Cappella ever was, climbed into Vlad's lap, and held his head between her chubby hands. Her smile had a gap where a tooth had fallen and she told him with eerie calm. "Baarhani, the time of your white and black mistress has ended, but as the Mistress of Bulls I need a pet of my own."

"I don't understand."

The small girl giggled, "Tenegh, bulls don't have to understand."

Vlad really didn't understand, but he found himself living with the Kin and it was nothing like he could have dreamed. The creatures that now openly roamed were beyond comprehension, and made the worms seem ordinary. The endless night turned to endless day when Burakh sacrificed an aurach so large its blood made a new river. Twyre never went out of season, and food was plentiful.

In the strange new world Vlad had no power, but despite the past no harm came to him. His life was traded for servitude to their Mistress who he now was nursemaid to.

The work made his efforts to help raise his sister in his mothers absence trivial. Much of that labor had already been the work of maids so no Olgemsky dirtied their hands. Now he didn't just entertain and teach, but helped the small girl bath and cloth herself. Ladies of the Kin coached him in braiding Taya's hair because she refused to have anyone else do it for her. The girl sat as a queen on her throne, and Vlad trimmed her nails.

None of these motherly tasks could be taken or given to the Kin women who were better suited. The suggestion of doing so led to tantrums that the whole village could feel like a storm running through them. Tantrums that would only end when the Kin submitted to Taya's demands. Only the rare exception of when menkhu Burakh intervened would she not get her way, and even then he only once attempted to reason with her when it came to Vlad's chores.

She grew older, and both he and the Kin tried to tell her it was inappropriate for him to dress and bathe her. It was one thing when she was small, but now she reached his shoulders with no end to her growth in sight.

Immodest she sat on her throne, hair dripping and body naked, her anger at the suggestion of change halted everything. "Tenegh!" She growled, "He is mine, and he does as I please."

Burakh stood seemingly the only one unmoved by her anger, and asked the question Vlad asked himself again and again. "Why?"

"Khodo khara, he was the White Mother's calf, souvilag'sh to her sucsessor, and was to be a bos for the Scarlet Mistress." She explained to the menkhu like it was obvious. Even though Vlad was now used to the language, and the alien phrasing of the Kin he still found it hard to follow.

Burakh showed no outward signs of such difficulty, but stared at them both and seemed to see beyond what was to be seen in a world already full of miracles. Then told Taya sternly, "You are too young."

With those words the meaning suddenly came to him, and Vlad looked at Taya sitting so proudly. He couldn't look at her bare flesh for long and quickly felt sick.

"I know," She answered petulantly. "But one day I won't be, and he must learn his place in the meantime."

Vlad felt himself hyperventilating at just the thought, and he looked to the menkhu for help. He got none as Burakh left having given his opinion, and his mistress snapped her fingers becoming him. 

Chapter Text

Petplay | Humiliation | Blood play

Daniil/Artemy

Daniil wrote replies to his correspondences at his desk with Artemy sitting at his feet. Daniil himself was down to his waistcoat, and sleeve garters held his sleeves up exposing his wrists me? M. . and protecting his cuffs from ink. Artemy was even more dressed down, only wearing a tight undershirt that helped support his chest enough to avoid unnecessary back pain.

Artemy leaned his head against Daniil's thigh, but Daniil hadn't scratched his head in a while. He was being ignored for the stupid paper and ink, and people who weren't even in the room.

Artemy huffed in annoyance.

The pen scratched against the paper as Daniil composed his letter.

Artemy whined low in his throat and pawed at Daniil's trousers purposely letting his nails catch on the fine fabric.

Daniil grabbed Artemy's "paw" and took it off his pants unconsciously, and let it drop to the floor. Artemy started at Daniil in puzzlement. He wanted attention.

He then put both paws on Daniil's thigh, and pulled himself half up into his lap.

Wide eyed Daniil put the flat of his hand on Artemy's forehead, "No you don't!"

He quickly pushed Artemy off his lap. "You are way too big for that, puppy."

Artemy smiled, he had Daniil's attention. 

Before Daniil could go back to work Artemy bit the edge of his rolled up cuff and pulled nearly knocking Daniil off his chair. If he had a tail it would have been wagging.

Daniil yanked his arm back, and then inspected the sleeve. It was wet, but not damaged. Sternly he waggled his finger, "Bad dog!"

Artemy backed up, surprised at the cruel words, and whined with his head down. He just wanted attention, and now he was bad.

For a long moment Daniil stared down at Artmey who in the puppy headspace couldn't even meet his eyes now, and sighed. There was something about Artemy holding himself like a kicked puppy that really struck Daniil's sense of guilt, and he held out his hand. "I'm sorry."

Artemy looked up from lying prone and whined again. He didn't want to be bad again.

"Come here, puppy," Daniil coaxed, not moving, and waited for Artemy to come when he was ready.

Slowly Artemy crawled back to Daniil, and when he got to his hand sniffed once and backed off.

"Come on, I'm not mad at you." Daniil explained knowing it was his tone that mattered as much as his words. He never got a straight answer with how much Artemy understood in his puppy headspace. It seemed it depended on how deep into it he was, and just that made Daniil feel worse. Artemy was purposely being vulnerable to him, and he snapped.

Artemy leaned over to Daniil's hand again, sniffed it, and then gently licked his ink stained fingers.

"There's a good boy." Daniil encouraged, and was now committed to ignoring his work for a while.

Artemy smiled, and licked Daniil's hand more thoroughly. He was a good boy again!

Daniil smiled back down at the bigger man, and ruffled his hair. "You just wanted attention didn't you, boy."

Artemy leaned into Daniil's hand, which then became two. Daniil gave Artmey the best head scratches, and Artemy's mouth fell open as he panted.

"You just have to remember you're too big to be a lapdog." Daniil added.

Artemy gave him a confused woof, and cocked his head to the side in perfect mimicry of a confused hound.

Daniil couldn't hold back his smile.

Chapter Text

Hate sex | Cock Warming | Mirror Sex

Peter/Andrey

Peter's twyrine green eyes shone between locks of greasy hair that swayed with each rock of his body. His long fingers knotted into Andrey's hair, and he growled through gritted teeth. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Peter," Andrey whispered his name like a prayer, and tried to turn his head back to look at him. Peter growled and shook him, "Shut up, shut up! You ruin everything."

He felt untethered, as he fucked into his brother below. There wasn't enough lube and his cock felt raw, but Peter didn't stop. He was so angry. "Everything that's mine you ruin! Everything! I can't have anything, because you can't fucking let me live."

Andrey whined, and his throat worked like he was going to say something else. Peter shook him again, and dug his nails into his hip. "He was mine! He was mine, and you took him too! Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to fuck you? Well you got your wish, and I'm never getting him back."

Tears fell onto Andrey's back, and when Peter tried to let go of his hair but the blood coating his hand stuck to it.

Beside the bed was a pool of blood with Farkhad staring up with empty eyes.

Chapter Text

Noncon/Dub-con | Foodplay | Creampie

Lara/Block Lara/Soldiers 

"Get your hands off me!" Lara's growl was cut off as she almost tripped up the train car's stares.

The mutinous soldiers laughed at her, and when she reached the top one took the moment to grab and squeeze her ass. She pivoted and slapped the soldier across the cheek, and he grabbed her hand pushing her against the wall of the train car. 

Smirking, he leaned into her space until they were almost nose to nose, "It's always more fun when they fight."

Two other soldiers came up behind him, crowding in on her. They turned away in unison at the sound of a muffled shout, and the hard rocking of a four legged chair.

Two more soldiers stood armed next to General Block who was bound and gagged to a chair. One grabbed the back of the chair and slammed it down. "Careful General, these lads are just having fun. I'd hate to see her get killed because of you."

Block struggled against the ropes, and his hair fell out of its slicked back do and framed his angry eyes. 

Lara gasped. She had been searching for him to take her revenge when the mutineers caught her, but she wasn't prepared for the sheer presence of him. Even bound he didn't look helpless, and she began to wonder why she even thought she could have taken a man like that down.

"Let her go!" The words were garbled by the cloth gag stuffed in the general's mouth, but just clear enough to understand.

The soldier that had been leading the thugs that grabbed Lara sauntered up to Block. 

"What was that?" He asked, but before any response could be given he punched Block. He then grabbed his chin, and blood ran down his fingers from Block's now broken nose. 

"I don't think I asked for your opinion?" He looked around the room. "Did you ask for his opinion? How about you little lady? Did you ask him?"

"Certainly not!" Despite the fact that they were both in the clutches of the same degenerates, the idea insulted Lara. It was a ridiculous and impractical response, and her cheeks flared red. "And I didn't ask to be kidnapped from the street."

"That's not how I remember it, little lady." The villain smiled, and slapped Block as a parting gift. "I remember finding you sticking your nose in other people's business clinging on to this peashooter here."

Lara backed away, but with the wall on one side and other soldiers on the other she had nowhere to go. He tapped Lara's fun to her bottom lip, and she struggled not to flinch. She knew better than to show fear to an animal, but she knew what he wanted. Every girl heard stories of men like this, but Lara had always been good and avoided such people.

Her chin trembled as he trailed the pistol down her face, and then further down pushing her blouse open. "There are lots of bad people out there, and that horrid plague too. I think you owe us for rescuing you."

"No," Lara bit out, and she was proud with how little her voice shaked. "Don't you dare try to mask this as some form of charity on your part."

The man's eyes sharpened, and at least two other men held Lara still. His cold smile only grew as her heart rate spread up, and he ripped open her blouse exposing her chemise and corset. Lara cringed away from him, but held she couldn't get away from his grasping hands. He pushed her sleeveless chemise down enough to expose one breast, and squeezed the soft flesh. "Tell me then, what is this, little lady?"

Lara felt sick, and blinked away the tears threatening to fall.

"Tell me, what am I going to do with you?"

She bit her lower pink lower lip, and couldn't keep the tremble from her voice, "You are, are going to,"

"Tell me or I'm going to get mean." He whispered in her ear, and pinched her nipple cruelly.

Lara made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob and whispered. "Your going to rape me."

"What was that-" He stopped his taunting when a crash interrupted him.

One of the soldiers flanking Block was holding his shin, and the other hand his rifle out pointed to Block who was still tied to the chair but had fallen over in his struggles. His hair was more wild and in his face than before, and he glared venomously at the soldier. 

"Let her go now!" His voice was still distorted by the gag, but it couldn't suppress the rage in the order.

"Are you sure we can't kill him?" The leader asked.

"Captain Longin said not to hurt him."

Sneering down at the General who stared back just as defiantly he pulled his foot back to kick him but stopped. Settling back into a lazy mimicry of parade rest he cocked his head to the side, and smiled. "Pick him up, a General doesn't belong on the floor. After all, what would Captain Longin say?"

While the two guards worked to get the chair back on its feet, he grabbed Lara by the wrist and dragged her over to the General. He twisted Lara around in his grip and held her from behind shamelessly groping her. "We've been so rude! I should have realized the General gets first dibs."

Block's protests were unintelligible behind the gag, and before Lara could protest herself the man kicked the back of her knee sending her to the ground. Lara caught herself by grabbing Block's thighs, and winced with how hard her knees hit the floor.

The man shoved Lara's pistol in the back of her head, "Come on, get him out of his pants. Or we can show the General that a dead girl can be just as fun as a live one, as long as you don't let her get too cold."

Lara's hands trembled as she started on the buttons of Block's trousers. Block tried to pull away even though he was bound to the chair, and the man warned. "Behave, General, or maybe I'll get more creative than blowing her brains out into your lap."

At that threat Block froze, but he didn't stop his death glare.

Lara finally got the buttons undone, and with another nudge of the pistol she touched a cock for the first time. She was almost grateful that Block was soft. At least he wasn't getting off on her suffering too, but she was suddenly paralyzed with fear. She had no idea what this man wanted her to do with it.

"Looks like the little general needs help standing at attention. Why don't -"

Outside a gunshot crack through the air. It was then followed by another shot, and another, and everyone in the train car was looking in the direction of the source.

"Someone go check that out!" The mutineer's leader said, and two of the men who had brought Lara there went outside.

More shots were fired, and one of the men out there screamed.

The leader sighed, and gestured to the guards, "Follow me."

They all left, leaving Lara alone with Block, and she jerked back violently. Gunshots continued to go off, and the occasion man screamed and Lara searched for something to defend herself. Finding a knife she looked back at Block, but she knew then she couldn't kill him. If nothing else he might draw the soldiers attention away from herself.

The gun shots grew louder, and Lara cut through the ropes binding General Block who pulled the gag out of his mouth. "Thank you-"

"Shove it!" Lara snarled and started cutting free one of the General's legs. "You murdered my father, you can take your thanks and shove it up your ass. I need you alive is all."

Lara sobbed and sniffed, and cut Block's other leg loose. She barely noticed how Block stood up as she did as well, and they both tried to cover themselves back up with their clothes.

Her shirt was ruined and wouldn't keep her modest, and Lara's sob was interrupted when the General's heavy coat fell on her shoulders. 

"It's cold this time of year." General Block explained, and looked away from her in shame.

Lara was too stunned to say anything, and the sound of someone climbing the train car's steps drew her attention away from him before she could think of a response.

"Andrey?" A voice called out.

Block pushed himself in front of Lara, as Lara lifted the knife up as the paltry protection it would provide.

Up into the train car walked the Bachelor holding a rifle with the comfort of a soldier, and when he recognized them he lowered the gun. "Seems like you've lost control of your army, General."

"Unfortunately it seems you'r right."

Chapter Text

Size difference | Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Impact Play

Peter - Katerina/Rat Prophet 

Peter didn't always mean to see the things he saw. Sometimes it was the wenches, other times he saw the heart pumping beneath his feet, other times it was buildings that had to be made or else their madness would take him.

Tonight it was the Governor's wife, Katarina Saburov, in her night gown laying on her bed. A tourniquet hung loose around her arm, and a syringe was laying inert beside her. Her hair was a black halo around her head, and her gaunt features made her look like an angel of death.

Then the rats came. Hundreds of rats crawled up out of the floor, and over her body as she writhed in her bed sheets. She kicked her skirt up, and one of the rats ate one of its brothers. Then it ate another, and another, until only half the rats were left and there was one greater rat above Katerina with his hands clasped as in prayer.

Katerina continued to shake and convulse under the beady eyed rat, and it held her whispering lies into her ear. She screamed, and cradled the creature between her legs, and Peter thought that if she got her prophecy's from the rat that fucked her it explained a lot.

Then as if alerted to Peter's presence the Rat Prophet looked up at him, and hissing static filled his eyes and ears.

The horrific static whine over took Peter until he woke up clutching a bottle of twyrine.

He took a drink.

Chapter Text

Formal wear | Overstimulation | Sadomasochism

Artemy/Rubin

Stakh's cock was more than a mouthful, and when Artemy chose to go down on him it was easy for him to get over enthusiastic and choke. He loved every second of it.

Everything about Stakh's cock was a novelty to Artmey's. He was circumcised to start with. Something Artemy had only run into a couple of times, and mostly because he saw more naked men in the army than he ever expected to in his life. Artemy liked licking across the scar from it even though it didn't seem to do much for Stakh, it was a textural difference for Artemy to memorize and savor.

Then there was the sheer size of Stakh's cock. Its size was fitting for such a large man, but he never got as rock hard as some. He didn't need to, and Artmey wasn't sure he could even handle it if it did. It would disappoint him if he couldn't take all of Stakh down his throat, especially when that was the one way to guarantee he could get Stakh to shudder and moan.

Artemy gagged as he forced himself down on that beautiful prick again, and his throat swallowed convulsively as he stayed down long enough to get another drawn out moan from Stakh. His hands caressed hairy thighs, as he pulled back to catch his breath.

Stakh clawed at the bed sheets and fought the urge to thrust up. It was hard to coax Stakh out of passively accepting pleasure. Too often he was locked in the anxiety that he would mess up. Fearful of finally doing the one thing that would drive Artemy away. It was almost funny that Stakh thought he could repulse Artemy by being too pushy in bed when accusations of patricide hadn't driven Artemy away. The only reason it wasn't was how deep the fear ran inside him.

Artemy conquered that fear of Stakh's by inches. Every groan, every gasp, every whimper was land gained. When Artemy figured out Stakh hated how balls touched unless he was close to climax it was a victory.

He loved that with one hand steadying Stakh's cock and another gently cupping his sensitive testicles as they rose to the occasion, Stakh's stoic exterior shattered. His deep voice would rumble, and one hand would finally grab Artemy by the hair and hold him down.

Come flooded Artemy's mouth, and he could never swallow fast enough to not make a mess of himself. It was glorious.

When Stakh finished his release, Artemy wasn't done. He continued to suckle on his cock, not ignoring the way Stakh writhed in too much stimulation, but reveling in it.

The dam was broken, and Stakh couldn't hold back his reactions. His toes curled and he kicked futility, and the whimpers and whines filled the room with prettier music than Isidor's gramophone ever did. The stimulation made it take longer for Stakh to go completely soft, but when he did Artemy gave the head a light kiss, as both thank you and good bye.

Chapter Text

Double penetration 1-hole | Tickling | Shower Sex

Aglaya/Artemy

The weak late fall sun slipped past the curtains casting a gentle light on the bed. The warm kiss of it on his cheek slowly woke Artemy up, and sleepy he looked down at the woman in his arms.

That's all she was now. To survive Aglaya had to cast off her title as Inquisitor, because the Inquisitor had to die.

Aglaya lived and breathed in his arms, both of them survived, the town survived. The sun was gentle on her graying hair. 

Artemy couldn't resist petting her side, to feel that she was still there. That the naked press of her breasts against him wasn't an illusion. His memories of the night before were not a dream. Aglaya had actually pressed him down on the bed, and ridden him with the same determination that let her live. Now she was soft beneath his fingers, and staring up at him as if she wondered if he too was a dream.

He didn't stop his wandering fingers, and she simply watched him. Sharing the same breath, and lazily existing. Then Artemy's pinky brushed against the inward curve of Aglaya's waist, and she flinched. Instead of avoiding that spot Artemy touched it again gently looking for the cause. He couldn't take it if there was an unknown hurt he had ignored after they survived through so much.

She flinched when he touched her again, and he could hear the way her lines knotted up to the response. 

He looked to her face to ask if it hurt. Aglaya's lip was caught under her teeth, but she couldn't hold back the smile or how her cheeks glowed.

Artemy lit up with impish excitement. "Are you ticklish?"

Aglaya instantly schooled her face. "Not at all."

Her lie was so blatant and uncharacteristically sloppy that Artemy just grinned. "Are you sure?"

Then using the same instincts that told him where to cut he let his fingers dance along her side, and Artemy heard the most amazing melody of Aglaya's laugh. It was a talent Artemy once forgot and had vexed had friends in childhood, but he found it easy once he remembered. With just the lightest brush of his hands he was on top of Aglaya having her writhe and laugh. It was so intoxicating that the new sound when it joined started Artemy with it's roughness, until he recognized it as his own laughter joining hers.

Chapter Text

Sweat | Branding | Masterbation

Vlad Sr./Artemy/Oyun 

The big problem with being forced on all fours and treated like a beast for days upon days was it grew harder and harder not to think like one. The brain was like a polymer, flexible when heated by stress, but once molded into a shape and left too cool it became harder to remold it.

In that way the moments of calm where Artemy found how to behave so the pain wasn't so bad were the most dangerous. It was then he learned to submit to the inhumanity of Vlad Sr.'s game, and it became harder and harder to fight back.

It was in that daze that the strange cage was brought, and instead of a thoughtful human reaction he could only react in animal fear.

Perhaps if it was something the Kin had normally used with cattle it wouldn't have been so terrifying, but Artemy had only seen one of these once when in his travels to the capital he curiously watched how other people handled cattle.

It was a cattle crush. 

The Kin didn't need such things. The two worms with heavy gazes and heavy hands could hold a cow, sometimes three to hold a bull, while a yargachin tended to the health of the animal. Those outside the Kin used a crush. A cage that was just tight enough to restrain the animal without hurting it. When Artemy had first seen one he saw both advantages and disadvantages. A bull that was too big wouldn't fit, a bull that fought could hurt itself, and the operators worked with a speed that showed they did not want to let the animal in longer than necessary. Still as much as they respected the cattle they didn't have the connection that the worms had or the yargachin. They were blind to the lines, and this was the best they could do.

These facts were all things Artemy could understand at one point, but now as Oyun skillfully blocked off Artemy's attempts to run all the had was the mind of a terrified animal.

His hands were heavy in their hoof like sacks, and the blinders cut off his vision. He had been tied to a post and breed like a cow, but this cage of wood and metal gave him nothing.

Oyun gave him nowhere else to go. He couldn't back up, and with the wall on one side and Oyun on the other forward was the only direction he could go. He could see Vlad Sr. at the front of that cage, but Artemy's only hope for freedom was to run through it.

He didn't have the speed of a bull. He was no longer as clumsy on all fours, but he didn't have the natural grace on all fours. Yet he moved as quickly as he could, with manufactured hooves thudding as he sprinted. His head breached the crush, but Vlad Sr. did something to make it close.

Through the gag Artemy was unable to do anything more than grunt and moan as he thrashed. With a hide that was only human he would bruise, and when a sinking sense of dread he froze eyes darting around.

Then a hand touched his flank through the bars, and a low deep voice calmed him even with its angry tone. The anger wasn't aimed at him, and the hand knew how to gentle a scared beast. The same voice taught him how to approach a bull when he was little, and how to show appreciation and respect.

Vlad Sr.'s voice startled Artemy, and the comforting hand left his side. His chest expanded with each breath, but he stayed still as if he could be forgotten. Then another hand was on his flank, big but broader, and there was something warm nearby.

Then it was searing into the meat of his hindquarters, and something snapped. Something human told him this wasn't a humiliation, but a desecration. This man didn't have the right.

Didn't have the right!

Artemy bucked, and rocked in the crush, angry both body and soul.

Mededeg zurlaa?

Bish!

Bish menkhu, bis yargachin, bish odongh, bish emshen.

Artmey's hindquarters burned, and the burn reached his very soul. The metal he bashed against bent and the wood splintered, and the cage broke.

Rage burned through him like the brand, and he saw the legs of the one who hurt him so. He lowered his head ready to charge like the beast he was turned into when a thick arm wrapped around his throat.

"Boleesh, booha." That strong voice warned, no ordered. Artmey bristled, but there was wisdom in the words. The first words spoken in a language Artemy could understand that day.

He stopped fighting, and a big hand petted his flank. 

The petting didn't fix the lines he felt now tangled up and wrong inside him, but the hand seemed to know where to touch and how to soothe those lines.

He then spoke the ugly unintelligible language to the other man, but the petting continued until exhaustion forced Artemy to lay down in the hay.