Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Within his ungloved hands lies the last letter you wrote him, scented by your perfume— he inhales its aroma while his fingers push into his regal slacks, teasing the bristles of white threadlike hair upon his mons pubis. Rouxls inhales deeply, taking his member between his thumb and two fingers. He swirls them around the fleshy mound below the head of his cock before stroking languidly up and down the entirety of its length. His magnificent cobweb eyelashes flutter shut as he kisses the page, almost tasting and wetting the ink you’d used, the alcohol and oil content of the fragrances.

Your image flashes behind his closed eyes— your face, your hips, your jaw, your navel, your thighs, all from purloined glances. He never felt guilty, though— glances of you were simply ripe for the taking.

He quickly collects the slick gushing from his slit and strokes it up and down his length, quickening his arm’s pace as he takes bigger inhales. What finally makes him come undone is a fantasy of you, writing the letter with one of his dark feather quills, wearing a matching set of black lace lingerie and tickling the tip of his cock with the quill’s feather. Your scent flushes his nose as his body wrenches in ecstasy.

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His arms wrapped around your clothed leg, he clutches against your flesh with ardor.

“Ah…Pleaseth…”

He kisses your knee just below the kneecap, the squishy, dubiously bonelike skeletal structure belying his face pressing against your calf with such lust, you fear he may melt into you. You reach down, stroking the gossamer of his shiny hair. He moans, a sweet, decadent hum, laden with so much eros it makes your core throb right away. The sound of his jacket’s buttons nudging one another, the fabric of his pants rubbing against itself, his shoes rutting against the castle courtyard floor in a vinyl squeak.

With the most beautiful expression you’ve ever seen, you feel his entire body jerk, and stiffen. Rouxls sighs deeply, looking up at you like a goddess statuette. You’ve never felt so high-up.

“I… I didn’t even–”

“Thou didn’st need to.” He purrs, his face wrenching into an annoying grin that softens into a gentle expression of bliss that becomes most plain to see upon his lips.

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Dark blue inky hands wrap around your waist and grope the meat of your chest. Soft, light blue hands caress your shoulders, the cloud of a mane around her neck brushing your collarbone as she takes you in for an impossibly wet kiss. Yellow hands move from her ample thighs to yours, slickened in your mutual erotic downpour. You arch your back right into Rouxls, and he places one hand on your hip bone and the other right at your pubic mound, creeping its way toward the vulnerability of your clit. Elnina cups your breast, kissing one side of your neck while Rouxls pecks at the other side with little care. His tongue swipes along your sensitive flesh right as he first presses his fingers against your clit, and sparks shoot through your whole body; Elnina and Lanino startle at your reaction, as if stars have just popped out of your eyes. 

Slyly, they reach out to all have a go at the sweet and special spot that is your clit. Hues of blue mingle with that of yellow and skin, but it still feels like rainbows are shooting out of you. Your body is flush against Elnina’s now, and you kiss and fondle her gently while Rouxls and Lanino kiss at your respective thighs; Rouxls’s large hands deftly maneuver your legs over his shoulders while he tastes you, and you come in a deluge of heat and slick upon his cerulean tongue instantaneously– Elnina’s cloudburst climax arrives soon after, right on forecast.

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You slip the straps of your chemise down to your elbows, letting the silk and lace fall past the heft of your bosom. Your nipples harden to visibility in the cold air.

He’s watching while you dress down, realizing that his gloved hand is strangely poised on his hip before straightening his posture, an uncontrollable smile diffusing across his face as he gazes into your chamber. His gaze is permeating, violative. You can almost feel its presence in the air, like smoke, thousands of invisible caresses pushing down on your bare skin every which way.

Rouxls is impossibly impatient. He knows being patient will get him what he wants by the sheer force of waiting things out, but he’s learned enough here to know that waiting won’t cut it for him anymore. He rubs his thigh, feeling an urgent erection strain against his slacks and tunic. He wishes he was your lamp, the jewelry stand on your dresser, the étagère against your wall. Erotic thoughts about being your living furniture blossom in his rose-clouded mind.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties just before you notice something there, lurching, peering at you from the dark.

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You’re sitting upon Rouxls’s lap, gazing upward at his hazy, tired face. Tired from what, you reckon, as he doesn’t tend to do much rather than engage in his hobbies. His pupils flicker with candlelight, and you notice the silver candlestick in his hands. He pushes up your skirt, revealing the bareness of your thigh. The goo of his “flesh” burns when he touches you, and you quiver at its reception.

A new burning occurs, this time adjacent to your thigh. You notice the dark blue wax of the candle (looking appropriately like a dark blue, Rouxls-esque phallus) coursing through the miniscule hairs of your inner thigh toward his lap beneath your legs. You touch it with your fingers a bit. He holds your wrist, studying the wax. You rub it, softening its pliable texture into his neck like cologne— it smells dark and sweet and familiar, like figs and rosemary and blueberries.

Rouxls sets the candle down and removes you from his lap, placing you in his seat as he crouches beneath you, inhaling the aroma of the wax upon your thigh. He kisses the sensitive meat of your innerness, and you reach forth to stroke his hair. His fingers haphazardly rest upon your outer thighs, tapping gently, and you realize it’s been ages since he’s been this quiet. You sigh in bliss. Your fingers trace the silhouette of his face, and you toy with his lip a bit before pushing a thumb into his mouth. His eyelashes pout like an insect’s wings as he takes your thumb in.

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The two of you stumble from what you could only call some sort of a darkner speakeasy, in various stages of inebriation. You truly understand the term “tunnel vision”— the world seems like you’re viewing it from within a mountain. You’re clutching his arm for balance, very tipsy but not totally drunk. He can walk perfectly fine, but he’s flushed and sweating.

“I didn’t think you were such a drinker,” you remark to him as his hand slips down the curve of your waist toward your hips.

“I am not,” he says. “We downe here just haveth… a different tolerance for adulte beverages.”

“So you really don’t feel much of anything?”

“Heh… from the liquor, nay… but thou canst changeth that.” Sigh… his mind is always elsewhere.

Your hands roam his body, and you find your front flush with his, your breasts against his thin, warm abdomen.

Rouxls pants, his body arching into you.

His hand slips into your waistband, cupping your ass before moving to the front, and you nearly buckle at his touch. Of course… you’d forgotten how horny you get when drunk. 

“So wet… oh, mine disgusting worm.” 

Your body feels almost liquid, soft and pliable. His deft hands maneuver your body onto the ground, between his legs, around a corner from the bar. His mean, domineering flirts turn your legs to jelly.

He strokes your sex, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it well or if your drunkenness just makes him feel more skilled. The idea that anyone could walk around this corner and see you splayed out between his legs like he’s playing a string instrument makes your head spin with lust. The moment his erection twitches against your back, he strokes the length of your clit, and you come, wrenching your back and squeezing your legs together.

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Rouxls has been able to keep himself chaste and honest for about a week now— no impure thoughts, no lewd touching. With the help of a device between his thighs, of course. But he couldn’t say no when you asked to visit him in the dungeon with lascivious ideas on your mind.

You ordered him to strip. He does, slowly, removing each aspect of his uniform before revealing the cage concealing his half-erection— more like a quarter-erection. It strains against the apparatus, and he whines at the contact.

You place a strip of fabric over his beautiful eyes. He bites his lip in a way far more obscene than the spectacle between his legs. A long silence fills the room, before you part your lips and whisper to him.

“I’m on my period. But I want you to fuck me. Now.”

He moans, and he abandons any decency.

“Get… get this… f-fucking thinge off of mye loins…”

You oblige, undoing the strap in the back. He grabs you, feeling up and down your body, noticing your lack of clothing, before his cock lines up with your sex and he plunges in.

You moan heavily at the way he fills you up. Your blood provides a decadent spend that makes it easier for him to glide within your cunt, his hands straddling your shoulders. You caress his chest, and with just that simple contact he comes inside of you.

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“Evere am I so flattered that thou art so… fondeth of mine garbe…” He says as you clutch onto the breadth of his arm and run a finger down his gauntlet, feeling the soft leather of his glove. You press his arm into the valley between your breasts, squeezing it between them, and he visibly shakes with lust.

He moves his arm, placing it around your back, squeezing at your waist while you press your face into his side, inhaling his smoky, inky scent. You let out a gentle moan of the feeling of his tunic against the soft down of your face.

“P…pleaseth,” He breathes, sitting, heaving you over his lap, straddling him. You gaze down at his tousled alabaster hair, bleeding into his epaulets like cut silk. You run your fingers over them— it makes him nervous. You look down at his hands, splayed casually upon your thighs, but there is something terribly erotic about it— how spread his thumbs are, how his left index finger twitches (it’s the closest to your sex, after all). 

Your eyes wash over his body and naturally end up at its apex, its main attraction— his crotch. You bring yourself forward, sitting on his erection, the only thing between your sexes an array of lustrous fabrics.

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You’re sitting on his lap, in the master’s seat in the dungeon. Creatures populate the different cells in various stages of grief and lucidity.

What they don’t know is that beneath your skirt he is spreading the petals of your cunt open and wide to receive. His pants slide down effortlessly, and he enters you.

Your body stalls, and you freeze up at his entrance. It feels terribly good between your thighs, but you had no idea how good it would feel inside you. You clench your most intricate muscles around his length, and he grunts almost audibly.

“Start moving,” he commands.

You try to grind as much as you can without it being terribly obvious, but it isn’t enough to cross the threshold from tease to sex act.

Rouxls grips your thigh with a gloved hand, sighs, and forcibly grinds you against him with an intensity that causes you to nearly scream in sudden delight.

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Your eyes refocus on the delight of the ravenous carnage just beneath your waistline. Your fingers twitch, clenched within his flaxen bouquet of hair.

You pull, your hips curling upward, wrenching him into your sex, and he moans directly into your body, reverberating like an instrument.

He pulls away to breathe, mouth coating in a sheen of lovely slick. His tongue swipes across his lips and he twitches before bringing his head back down.

No words, no touching your body. Just as you’d instructed— but he was handcuffed just in case he thought to obey. You knew he wouldn’t, though— such a frightfully obeïsant creature to have buried his nose in your cunt.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard when he’s doing extra well, humming yes, and good— until you lose focus completely, seeing waterfalls behind your eyes as you come right into his mouth.

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Rouxls cannot help himself when he captures a particularly delicious piece of prey. That’s why you’re cuffed to a bed in your cell, because he couldn’t bear for his newest morsel to run off. Cat-and-mouse was not his hunting forté.

He slips into the bed with voracious intentions, tracing your thigh with his hand before heaving you onto your side, still asleep and in dreams. He notices you rubbing your thighs together.

You were, in fact, aroused. It was shocking to dream in such circumstances, but something about falling asleep with your arms tied up brought you to an edge you didn’t even know you had. It was so vulnerable. That's why you dreamt, albeit briefly, about the shadows in the form of a man, caressing your body with thousands of coal-dust hands, pushing apart the ribbons of your flesh and sex, and suddenly—

Rouxls moans into your ear, and you’re awoken by the feeling of being filled. You whine, and you arch your back needily into his strokes. It was like your lascivious dreams were coming true, in some harrowing, fucked-up way.

As he approaches a climax (you can tell when it’s about to happen) he pulls out and lets you lie on your back again, stroking himself until he’s coming on your thigh. You give him a furtive glance, and he caresses your face sweetly. Too saccharine. You take his fingers into your mouth, tasting the acrid salt of your sweat and his come.

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Your back is against Queen’s silicon-squishy chest, the heat of her breasts pulsating against your bareness. Her hands are greedy, caressing your breasts wantonly.

“Little Man”

“Give Me A Show Now”

She calls for Rouxls, who is completely nude. He steps up to you, his erection long and hard and level with your cunt— he could step right up to you and slip it in like a sword in a sheath. And that he does. Queen’s fingers spread and toy with your clit as he puts it in effortlessly.

He slings your leg over his shoulder as he works to please you, his cock pushing all the right buttons inside you, from a centimeter all the way to your womb. His hand comes down to pinion your breast, softly kneading it and deriving greater pleasure.

“Whose Pussy Is This”

Queen tweaks your nipples. What a strange question— the juxtaposition between Rouxls’s dutiful erotic energies contrasts her flippant words delightfully. You’re not sure if you should answer her. Thankfully, you’re coming instead, and your head rests against the gentle buzzing of Queen’s stomach. She looks like she blue screened.

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Rouxls’s back is flush against the bed, the sheen of his well-aroused cerulean prick glistening in the air’s hanging balm. The lips of your cunt are situated right against his shaft.

Your hips stall against him, a deep throb within the fire of your belly begging you to impale yourself on him to scratch this itch. You start to roll your slickened folds against his length, but he taps your thigh in an admonishment. He might be supine, but he’s still in charge.

“Please, please, your grace.” The tip of his penis brushes against your labia, and you tremble. You’re pulling out the big guns now— you know how much he likes titles.

He takes his prick in hand, maneuvering it so that its head presses against the upper meat of your sex— the more sensitive stuff closest to the intricate wiring that is your clitoris.

“Go on, then, worm.” He spits, unclear whether it’s genuine. You can’t be bothered to care, as you’re lined up with him so perfectly that you crash down onto the entirety of his length, dripping with all the nectar of your anticipation. You come in an inferno, but you continue to ride him ceaselessly, and he steadies his hands on your hips, watching you with such steady dominance as you fervently chase high after high atop him.

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Rouxls has never devolved into fucking you like this. His hands are gripping all planes of your flesh, so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks. When he grips your breast this time it isn’t tender— it’s like he has you in a vice. You run your hand over his collarbone and chest to remind yourself that he’s still him— that he’s not some berserking monster.

After he pulls out, moments from release, his lips move from your pubic mound to the skin of your stomach, the inky blue of his goopy skin damasking your body with soft kisses— until he reaches your neck. His teeth are fierce against your tender veil.

You dig your nails into his shoulders. He stalls above you at the sensation of pain. Such hypocrisy-!

“What?” You scowl.

He places his head in your bosom, resting and pouting. Yes, he’s still him. And you are his.

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Rouxls had been slightly reserved about bringing you bug-hunting with him— not due to shame (not a bone of shame existed in his body), but rather due to its… treacheries.

This fear came to light and blossomed while he took you to one of his favorite caves for the first time to spelunk. You hadn’t noticed at first— it was like the flower coughed in your face. Weird occurrences like that were common in the dark world.

In seconds you were doubled over, thighs pressed together and rubbing, desperate for his attention.

“Oh, mye…” He sighs, steadying you on the ground.

“Hey…” you whisper, spreading your legs, feeling an uncomfortable heat radiate and pulse between your legs that begs the world for friction. Eventually it becomes unbearable, and your hand trails down your body so that you can pull your panties to the side.

At the moment you notice the pocket square in Rouxls’s tunic jacket. And it’s protection… yes, his favorite pen. The moment you grab the pen from his pocket, he knows what you’re going to do.

Rouxls watches as the pen slips inside you, your abundant juices coating the elegantly monogrammed RK upon its hilt. You moan sweetly.

“More…” you whine, and Rouxls removes the pen, licking off all of your spend. He pushes two fingers into your needy sex, and your delicate muscles pulsate around them as you come hard.

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You’ve admired Rouxls’s body many a time. So when given the opportunity to see him tied up, you pounced.

Watching him strip in front of you is agonizingly beautiful. First the gloves and boots, then the jacket and slacks come off. His body is finely Adonis-sculpted, the curves of his soft, slender musculature so effortlessly lithe and attractive.

You hold his hair over his shoulder to weave the rope around his shoulder. His breath is cool, mentholated— he has a bluish aroma of peppery smoke and iris. His hair flows like silks. You press a kiss against his back right where his shoulder blades meet.

You purloin a quick glance over his shoulder at his crotch. Rouxls’s top half may be tied up completely, arms behind his back and strung together at the forearms, but his thighs squirm beneath the budding erection forming at their apex.

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Rouxls’s fingers are deft.

Not in the way you’d think. He’s standing behind you lacing up the corset of your blouse. He tugs on the ribbon.

“Does it really need to be so tight?!” You squawk.

“Ay, miladye, you needst not be frumpy. Thou art meeting the Queene, after all.” Never mind that the royalty in question was likely drunk off battery acid and passed out in a beach chair somewhere already.

Rouxls finishes with the ribbon and steadies your hips with his hands. Wordlessly, he sits you down and snakes around to grab your foot, wearing only stockings. He slips a shoe onto your foot, lacing it with a ribbon matching that of your corset.

You watch his hands work with the ribbon, and as he’s tying it he looks into your eyes. You’re transfixed on him, watching in a haze of hypnosis as he moves to the other foot, unwavering.

“Thank you.” You say very quietly, and he takes your hand between his, planting a tender kiss to it… you’re embarrassed at how hot this specific action of chastity gets you.

He stands, taking your hand with him, and you take his arm as you walk out of the chamber.

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Rouxls’s lips are soft, but present. You’ve devolved into making out on his shop counter, and it was clear from the start that this would escalate into something hotter and heavier. You’d even begun to suck on his tongue– he’d squirm extra hard when you did that.

You manage to pull yourself away from his face for a moment, and you let him pant while you swipe a little drool from the corners of your mouth, savoring his flavor a little longer as you hop off the counter and take his waistband between your fingertips.

“Oh, mye…” he sighs, helping you undo the button-fly of his pants. 

You pull down his silk undergarments (of course), and then revealed is a half-hard member the likes of which you’d never seen. Even semi-erect it was still the largest cock you’d ever witnessed in your life.

You cannot wait to feel it fill you.

Rubbing it fully to life, you press against his crotch with your own.

“Ah…” he bites his lip sheepishly, as if he is slightly apprehensive about it.

“I can take it,” you say.

“Doeth as you must.” He says confidently. What an attitude.

With the slick of pre-arousal from kissing as your own lubricant, you slowly sink down onto his prick. You hum as your body adjusts to the intrusion, steadying yourself until you’ve taken it to the hilt with the wondrous feeling of being stretched.

At least, you think you’re taking it to the hilt. You look down and it’s barely a few inches inside you. You look up at Rouxls, who is grinning while holding your waist.

“What? Didst thou thinketh you had sheathed thyself completely?”

You nod, but before he has time to bitingly reply you’re grinding against him, riding as much of his dick as you can.