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gutsby · 2 months

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Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

#NEED DARK!JOEL TO TAKE ME TO HIS PENTHOUSE AND FREAK ME IN WAYS UNIVERSALLY CONDEMNED BY POSTMODERN FEMINISM #IT'S SOOOOO BAD Y'ALL #this might be too niche but i hope at least one person enjoys LOL #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dark!joel

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The Troubling Trend in Teenage Sex

Peggy Orenstein out here doing God's work

NY Times 4/12/24

By Peggy Orenstein

Ms. Orenstein is the author of “Boys & Sex: Young Men on Hookups, Love, Porn, Consent and Navigating the New Masculinity” and “Girls & Sex: Navigating the Complicated New Landscape.”

Debby Herbenick is one of the foremost researchers on American sexual behavior. The director of the Center for Sexual Health Promotion at Indiana University and the author of the pointedly titled book “Yes, Your Kid,” she usually shares her data, no matter how explicit, without judgment. So I was surprised by how concerned she seemed when we checked in on Zoom recently: “I haven’t often felt so strongly about getting research out there,” she told me. “But this is lifesaving.”

For the past four years, Dr. Herbenick has been tracking the rapid rise of “rough sex” among college students, particularly sexual strangulation, or what is colloquially referred to as choking. Nearly two-thirds of women in her most recent campus-representative survey of 5,000 students at an anonymized “major Midwestern university” said a partner had choked them during sex (one-third in their most recent encounter). The rate of those women who said they were between the ages 12 and 17 the first time that happened had shot up to 40 percent from one in four.

As someone who’s been writing for well over a decade about young people’s attitudes and early experience with sex in all its forms, I’d also begun clocking this phenomenon. I was initially startled in early 2020 when, during a post-talk Q. and A. at an independent high school, a 16-year-old girl asked, “How come boys all want to choke you?” In a different class, a 15-year-old boy wanted to know, “Why do girls all want to be choked?” They do? Not long after, a college sophomore (and longtime interview subject) contacted me after her roommate came home in tears because a hookup partner, without warning, had put both hands on her throat and squeezed.

I started to ask more, and the stories piled up. Another sophomore confided that she enjoyed being choked by her boyfriend, though it was important for a partner to be “properly educated” — pressing on the sides of the neck, for example, rather than the trachea. (Note: There is no safe way to strangle someone.) A male freshman said “girls expected” to be choked and, even though he didn’t want to do it, refusing would make him seem like a “simp.” And a senior in high school was angry that her friends called her “vanilla” when she complained that her boyfriend had choked her.

Sexual strangulation, nearly always of women in heterosexual pornography, has long been a staple on free sites, those default sources of sex ed for teens. As with anything else, repeat exposure can render the once appalling appealing. It’s not uncommon for behaviors to be normalized in porn, move within a few years to mainstream media, then, in what may become a feedback loop, be adopted in the bedroom or the dorm room.

Choking, Dr. Herbenick said, seems to have made that first leap in a 2008 episode of Showtime’s “Californication,” where it was still depicted as outré, then accelerated after the success of “Fifty Shades of Grey.” By 2019, when a high school girl was choked in the pilot of HBO’s “Euphoria,” it was standard fare. A young woman was choked in the opener of “The Idol” (again on HBO and also, like “Euphoria,” created by Sam Levinson; what’s with him?). Ali Wong plays the proclivity for laughs in a Netflix special, and it’s a punchline in Tina Fey’s new “Mean Girls.” The chorus of Jack Harlow’s “Lovin On Me,” which topped Billboard’s Hot 100 chart for six nonconsecutive weeks this winter and has been viewed over 99 million times on YouTube, starts with, “I’m vanilla, baby, I’ll choke you, but I ain’t no killer, baby.” How-to articles abound on the internet, and social media algorithms feed young people (but typically not their unsuspecting parents) hundreds of #chokemedaddy memes along with memes that mock — even celebrate — the potential for hurting or killing female partners.

I’m not here to kink-shame (or anything-shame). And, anyway, many experienced BDSM practitioners discourage choking, believing it to be too dangerous. There are still relatively few studies on the subject, and most have been done by Dr. Herbenick and her colleagues. Reports among adolescents are now trickling out from the United Kingdom, Australia, Iceland, New Zealand and Italy.

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Twenty years ago, sexual asphyxiation appears to have been unusual among any demographic, let alone young people who were new to sex and iffy at communication. That’s changed radically in a short time, with health consequences that parents, educators, medical professionals, sexual consent advocates and teens themselves urgently need to understand.

Sexual trends can spread quickly on campus and, to an extent, in every direction. But, at least among straight kids, I’ve sometimes noticed a pattern: Those that involve basic physical gratification — like receiving oral sex in hookups — tend to favor men. Those that might entail pain or submission, like choking, are generally more for women.

So, while undergrads of all genders and sexualities in Dr. Herbenick’s surveys report both choking and being choked, straight and bisexual young women are far more likely to have been the subjects of the behavior; the gap widens with greater occurrences. (In a separate study, Dr. Herbenick and her colleagues found the behavior repeated across the United States, particularly for adults under 40, and not just among college students.) Alcohol may well be involved, and while the act is often engaged in with a steady partner, a quarter of young women said partners they’d had sex with on the day they’d met also choked them.

Either way, most say that their partners never or only sometimes asked before grabbing their necks. For many, there had been moments when they couldn’t breathe or speak, compromising the ability to withdraw consent, if they’d given it. No wonder that, in a separate study by Dr. Herbenick, choking was among the most frequently listed sex acts young women said had scared them, reporting that it sometimes made them worry whether they’d survive.

Among girls and women I’ve spoken with, many did not want or like to be sexually strangled, though in an otherwise desired encounter they didn’t name it as assault. Still, a sizable number were enthusiastic; they requested it. It is exciting to feel so vulnerable, a college junior explained. The power dynamic turns her on; oxygen deprivation to the brain can trigger euphoria.

That same young woman, incidentally, had never climaxed with a partner: While the prevalence of choking has skyrocketed, rates of orgasm among young women have not increased, nor has the “orgasm gap” disappeared among heterosexual couples. “It indicates they’re not doing other things to enhance female arousal or pleasure,” Dr. Herbenick said.

When, for instance, she asked one male student who said he choked his partner whether he’d ever tried using a vibrator instead, he recoiled. “Why would I do that?” he asked.

Perhaps, she responded, because it would be more likely to produce orgasm without risking, you know, death.

In my interviews, college students have seen male orgasm as a given; women’s is nice if it happens, but certainly not expected or necessarily prioritized (by either partner). It makes sense, then, that fulfillment would be less the motivator for choking than appearing adventurous or kinky. Such performances don’t always feel good.

“Personally, my hypothesis is that this is one of the reasons young people are delaying or having less sex,” Dr. Herbenick said. “Because it’s uncomfortable and weird and scary. At times some of them literally think someone is assaulting them but they don’t know. Those are the only sexual experiences for some people. And it’s not just once they’ve gotten naked. They’ll say things like, ‘I’ve only tried to make out with someone once because he started choking and hitting me.’”

Keisuke Kawata, a neuroscientist at Indiana University’s School of Public Health, was one of the first researchers to sound the alarm on how the cumulative, seemingly inconsequential, sub-concussive hits football players sustain (as opposed to the occasional hard blow) were key to triggering C.T.E., the degenerative brain disease. He’s a good judge of serious threats to the brain. In response to Dr. Herbenick’s work, he’s turning his attention to sexual strangulation. “I see a similarity” to C.T.E., he told me, “though the mechanism of injury is very different.” In this case, it is oxygen-blocking pressure to the throat, frequently in light, repeated bursts of a few seconds each.

Strangulation — sexual or otherwise — often leaves few visible marks and can be easily overlooked as a cause of death. Those whose experiences are nonlethal rarely seek medical attention, because any injuries seem minor: Young women Dr. Herbenick studied mostly reported lightheadedness, headaches, neck pain, temporary loss of coordination and ear ringing. The symptoms resolve, and all seems well. But, as with those N.F.L. players, the true effects are silent, potentially not showing up for days, weeks, even years.

According to the American Academy of Neurology, restricting blood flow to the brain, even briefly, can cause permanent injury, including stroke and cognitive impairment. In M.R.I.s conducted by Dr. Kawata and his colleagues (including Dr. Herbenick, who is a co-author of his papers on strangulation), undergraduate women who have been repeatedly choked show a reduction in cortical folding in the brain compared with a never-choked control group. They also showed widespread cortical thickening, an inflammation response that is associated with elevated risk of later-onset mental illness. In completing simple memory tasks, their brains had to work far harder than the control group, recruiting from more regions to achieve the same level of accuracy.

The hemispheres in the choked group’s brains, too, were badly skewed, with the right side hyperactive and the left underperforming. A similar imbalance is associated with mood disorders — and indeed in Dr. Herbenick’s surveys girls and women who had been choked were more likely than others (or choked men) to have experienced overwhelming anxiety, as well as sadness and loneliness, with the effect more pronounced as the incidence rose: Women who had experienced more than five instances of choking were two and a half times as likely as those who had never been choked to say they had been so depressed within the previous 30 days they couldn’t function. Whether girls and women with mental health challenges are more likely to seek out (or be subjected to) choking, choking causes mood disorders, or some combination of the two is still unclear. But hypoxia, or oxygen deprivation — judging by what research has shown about other types of traumatic brain injury — could be a contributing factor. Given the soaring rates of depression and anxiety among young women, that warrants concern.

Now consider that every year Dr. Herbenick has done her survey, the number of females reporting extreme effects from strangulation (neck swelling, loss of consciousness, losing control of urinary function) has crept up. Among those who’ve been choked, the rate of becoming what students call “cloudy” — close to passing out, but not crossing the line — is now one in five, a huge proportion. All of this indicates partners are pressing on necks longer and harder.

The physical, cognitive and psychological impacts of sexual choking are disturbing. So is the idea that at a time when women’s social, economic, educational and political power are in ascent (even if some of those rights may be in jeopardy), when #MeToo has made progress against harassment and assault, there has been the popularization of a sex act that can damage our brains, impair intellectual functioning, undermine mental health, even kill us. Nonfatal strangulation, one of the most significant indicators that a man will murder his female partner (strangulation is also one of the most common methods used for doing so), has somehow been eroticized and made consensual, at least consensual enough. Yet, the outcomes are largely the same: Women’s brains and bodies don’t distinguish whether they are being harmed out of hate or out of love.

By now I’m guessing that parents are curled under their chairs in a fetal position. Or perhaps thinking, “No, not my kid!” (see: title of Dr. Herbenick’s book above, which, by the way, contains an entire chapter on how to talk to your teen about “rough sex”).

I get it. It’s scary stuff. Dr. Herbenick is worried; I am, too. And we are hardly some anti-sex, wait-till-marriage crusaders. But I don’t think our only option is to wring our hands over what young people are doing.

Parents should take a beat and consider how they might give their children relevant information in a way that they can hear it. Maybe reiterate that they want them to have a pleasurable sex life — you have already said that, right? — and also want them to be safe. Tell them that misinformation about certain practices, including choking, is rampant, that in reality it has grave health consequences. Plus, whether or not a partner initially requested it, if things go wrong, you’re generally criminally on the hook.

Dr. Herbenick suggests reminding them that there are other, lower-risk ways to be exploratory or adventurous if that is what they are after, but it would be wisest to delay any “rough sex” until they are older and more skilled at communicating. She offers language when negotiating with a new partner, such as, “By the way, I’m not comfortable with” — choking, or other escalating behaviors such as name-calling, spitting and genital slapping — “so please don’t do it/don’t ask me to do it to you.” They could also add what they are into and want to do together.

I’d like to point high school health teachers to evidence-based porn literacy curricula, but I realize that incorporating such lessons into their classrooms could cost them their jobs. Shafia Zaloom, a lecturer at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, recommends, if that’s the case, grounding discussions in mainstream and social media. There are plenty of opportunities. “You can use it to deconstruct gender norms, power dynamics in relationships, ‘performative’ trends that don’t represent most people’s healthy behaviors,” she said, “especially depictions of people putting pressure on someone’s neck or chest.”

I also know that pediatricians, like other adults, struggle when talking to adolescents about sex (the typical conversation, if it happens, lasts 40 seconds). Then again, they already caution younger children to use a helmet when they ride a bike (because heads and necks are delicate!); they can mention that teens might hear about things people do in sexual situations, including choking, then explain the impact on brain health and why such behavior is best avoided. They should emphasize that if, for any reason — a fall, a sports mishap or anything else — a young person develops symptoms of head trauma, they should come in immediately, no judgment, for help in healing.

The role and responsibility of the entertainment industry is a tangled knot: Media reflects behavior but also drives it, either expanding possibilities or increasing risks. There is precedent for accountability. The European Union now requires age verification on the world’s largest porn sites (in ways that preserve user privacy, whatever that means on the internet); that discussion, unsurprisingly, had been politicized here. Social media platforms have already been pushed to ban content promoting eating disorders, self-harm and suicide — they should likewise be pressured to ban content promoting choking. Traditional formats can stop glamorizing strangulation, making light of it, spreading false information, using it to signal female characters’ complexity or sexual awakening. Young people’s sexual scripts are shaped by what they watch, scroll by and listen to — unprecedentedly so. They deserve, and desperately need, models of interactions that are respectful, communicative, mutual and, at the very least, safe.

#peggy orenstein #choking #wtf is going on

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latoyalestrange · 1 year

Text

public service announcement

r. weasley x f!reader

SCREAMING, CRYING, THROWING UP-- LOOK AT HIM!! LORd HAVE MERCY!!

summary: drunk!ron catches someone flirting with you at a party. chaos ensues.

words: ~0.7k

warnings: fluff, swearing, drinking, ron being so devistantingly in love with you that it hurts

it could've been that he was in the gryffindor common room, but all ron saw was red. he'd left you for two fucking seconds to get you a drink and some ballsy seventh-year hufflepuff had made his move. he stood in between dancing bodies, plastic cups starting to crinkle in his muscular hands. harry placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but his blaring gaze didn't shift from the two of you.

"merlin, ron, relax. they're just talking." ron still didn't say a word. he was waiting for the moment this guy went too far. you were smiling politely at him, engaged in what he was saying.

"look at the way he's looking at her. it's pathetic," he spat, his tone pure venom. then, it happened. as if time slowed down, he could see the hufflepuff's hand graze your arm, trailing a gentle finger down to your wrist.

"oh, shit--" before harry could act, ron had already taken a furious step towards the two of you, but he had to stop himself when he saw your reaction. with a sweet smile still plastered to your face, you pointed in his direction. reading your lips, ron understood when you said "that's my boyfriend". his gaze shifted to the boy standing opposite to you, who's face shown utter defeat.

in that moment, ron would've believed you if you told him his drink was spiked with love potion. his heart felt like it was fluttering in his chest as you waved at him innocently.

"oh, merlin..." he gaped at you adoringly. he'd never felt such pride. he'd entirely forgotten he was angry just moments before. harry rolled his eyes and went to join hermione on the other side of the room, just a few feet away from you on a couch. the hufflepuff caught his attention as he left. he watched him walk away until he was across the room, at which point, a vacant table usually used for games caught his attention. his eyes flashed back to you, then to the table again.

"ron, no--" you were too far away, he was already planting his feet on the table when you finally reached him. he'd already started to draw the attention of the partygoers.

"attention everyone!" his booming voice caught any straggling eyes, and now they were all on him.

"ron, please stop, please get down--"

"this woman here," with one swift motion, he scooped you up with his free arm and brought you up to join him. your face flushed a deep shade of red that you tried to hide in his chest as he continued. "--is off limits. just to save anyone else who didn't know the embarrassment." his words were followed by a beat of silence before someone broke it with a 'weasley is our king' chant. you were thankful it was later in the night and mostly everyone was incoherent at this point. you looked up at him beaming proudly at everyone below, his strong arm remaining draped around your waist.

"ron?" he shifted all of his attention on you with satisfaction in his eyes.

"hm?"

"can we get down now, please?" your little voice tugged at his heartstrings and he instantly felt terrible for embarrassing you.

"right, sorry, love." he stepped down first, then turned to hold your hand as you joined him on the solid floor again.

"i could've told them that, you know. i was doing a good job already," you joked, letting your head fall to his shoulder as he intertwined your fingers.

"but look at how efficient that was! no guy will go within fifty feet of you now, just watch." making your way over to the fireplace, you fount two empty spots on the couch next to harry and hermione.

you scoffed and shook your head, "when have you ever cared about being efficient?"

"never," he answered honestly, chuckling. you rolled your eyes as your two friends laughed with him.

reblog if you made it to the end!

#ron weasley smut #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley #ron wealsey x y/n #ron weasley fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter fluff #harry potter smut #harry potter x reader #ronblurb

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swappingbryn · 20 days

Text

It’s Your Soul, Cry If You Want To

We’d been on several dates, had never had sex, she kept saying she was old fashioned and didn’t want to rush. However, she finally agreed to stay the night and as you were getting ready, pumped up if you will, when his insecurities got the better of him.

I wasn’t ugly, and had sent a picture of myself, but I knew I could look better, I wasn’t short, but just being average FEELS short, and my dick was fine, but bigger is always better. I knew I couldn’t change any of this, I just wish I had all these ideal qualities. I sighed “I wish I was that version of myself.”

Suddenly, a cloud of blue smoke swirled in front of me, solidifying into a tall, horned man.

“Mortal, I will grant you anything you desire, but there is a price, the only question is, are you willing to pay it?” He questioned.

“What? Who are you?” I replied.

“Who, rather what, I am matters not. What matters is what you want and what you’ll pay for it” he answered while waving a hand. I went to protest, but suddenly felt the need to not ask anymore questions.

“I have a big date, and I really like her, but I don’t know if she’ll like me. I just want to be different, like the best version of me.” I said.

“I can do that for you. Make you taller, better looking, muscular, more endowed, even richer, smarter, and can even guarantee she will like you. But that is not free.” It replied.

“What will it cost me? I don’t have much money.” I told him.

“I have no need for money, and I’m offering YOU wealth. What I want is your soul.” As he said this I recoiled, “But worry not, you will retain most of it for the rest of your life, I will only claim it after you’ve lived a long, healthy life. You’ll have fifty good years living as the best possible version of yourself, happy, with a loving wife and large family. All you give is the time after you die.” He finished.

“I can’t, this is so wrong.” I quickly said.

“I understand, I will leave you.” And with that, he swirled back into a cloud of smoke. As he was vanishing, I couldn’t help myself.

“Wait, I accept” I yelled.

The blue cloud enveloped me and then solidified again, but everything was different. My apartment was larger, filled with nicer things, better view, my clothes were nicer, I was taller and could feel my mind running faster, and a heavy weight in my pants.

He snapped his fingers and a speck of light, smaller than the head of a match, flew out of me. It hovered in the air until he took a deep, magically deep breath, almost like a vacuum sucking it into him. He held that breath for a long time, and as he did, his body changed.

As he held that breath, his horns receded into his head, his skin turned a human shade of tanned white, he looked almost normal, except the eyes, his eyes stayed eerily golden. After what seemed like hours, but was really less than a minute, he exhaled, and then his eyes changed to blue, the same shade mine are, or were, as it looks like mine turned a dull brown.

He walked out of my penthouse apartment, looking entirely human now. Showing off his body, acting cocky and sure of himself.

“See you later bro, not too soon, I think you have, hmm, fifty seven years. I hope you enjoy your new life. Don’t worry, to everyone else, this has always been this way, so you don’t need to be afraid of people noticing.” And with that, he left.

Thank you @swapsrus for suggesting this model.

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cambion-companion · 1 year

Note

Saw the piggyback ask and I remembered this scene in fifty shades where Christian is carrying Ana over his shoulder and they pass one of the house employees on the way to the 'playroom'...

And now I'm thinking of Aemond doing that with his wife - not because she's drunk, she was extra bratty (on purpose) so he just slung her over his shoulder and now he's taking her to their chambers to teach her a little lesson🤭

Alicent and Criston Cole appear from around the corner just in time to catch a glimpse of Aemond entering your chambers with you over his shoulder and there's this brief moment where you make eye contact with your mother-in-law who knows full well her son is going to rail you in about two minutes...

Gods be good🤣

hahaha I absolutely adore both of these ideas guys!

Prepare for another drabble!

“You looked for Aegon where?” You closed the book you had been reading, placing it upon your knee, looking up at Aemond’s disheveled appearance.

“The brothel, The Blooming Rose, as it were.” Aemond removed his cloak, hanging it by the oaken door before turning back to where you sat. “He took me there when I was thirteen.” He hesitated. “The…madam recognized me.”

The discomfort in your husband’s voice caused you to rise to your feet, the forgotten book tumbling to the ground. “Was she indeed?”

Aemond’s violet eye looked everywhere but into your face. “She seemed pleased to see me.”

His hands clenched at his sides, you reached forward but he shied away from your touch, turning away, his posture rigid.

“I’ll be back.” You said, striding with purpose to the door, yanking it open and making your way down the corridor.

Your blood was boiling, the expression on Aemond’s face had caused your heart to clench.

“Y/N, wait!” Aemond caught your elbow, spinning you to face him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to have some words with this Madam of the Blooming Rose.” You pried yourself free of his grip, walking away from him once more.

“No, you’re not.” Aemond touched your waist as he kept pace with you, watching your fury unfold with something akin to awe. “You will not put yourself willfully in harm’s way.”

“I am harm and she is in my way.” With each step, you became angrier, the image of your husband’s fear fresh in your mind’s eye.

“Wife.” Aemond stopped you once again, his fingers locking securely around your wrist. “Charging into a brothel with the intent to cause chaos is not something I will allow you to do.”

“Allow me?” You seethed, trying to yank your hand away from his iron grasp. “Just try and stop me!”

You freed yourself, only for Aemond to grab you roughly around your waist, lifting you up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

You hit his back with your hands. “Let me down you ruffian!”

“I’m the ruffian?” Aemond chuckled and your attempts to get down, his hands probing mischievously against your skirts. “You’re the aspiring assassin, storming off to do gods know what with no plan or backup. Now stay still.”

You did not obey, squirming atop Aemond’s shoulder, causing him to grunt and almost lose his footing more than once as he carried you back down the empty hallway. He smacked your backside sharply after one particularly strong bout of flailing.

You gasped at the impact, stilling momentarily in your shock. “Did you just-?”

“Yes, and I will do it again if you don’t stop.”

“How dare you?”

“That’s right, direct your anger towards me instead. The better to keep you safe.”

You ceased your wiggling, hanging loosely over Aemond’s shoulder, your arms dangling down his back. With a smirk you raised a hand, bringing it down swiftly against Aemond’s backside in retribution. He started, almost dropping you. “You are a feral wildcat, Y/N!”

“What does that make you?”

“Someone who is going to fuck you thoroughly when we get back to our chambers.”

You gripped the waist of Aemond’s tunic, his long hair tickling your nose as it swayed with his movements. His words quite distracted you, sending a pool of molten need flooding your abdomen.

“No witty retort?” You could hear the smirk in Aemond’s low voice as he shifted you more securely into his arms.

“Give me a moment.” You growled. “I’m recovering.”

He laughed, a lovely genuine sound.

The two of you had almost made it undetected to your rooms, when the door at the far end of the hallway opened. Alicent, Cole and Otto strode through it, noticing you almost immediately. You lowered your head, wishing to disappear as Aemond passed them. Otto and Cole diligently strode forward, their backs to you, but Alicent turned, following her son’s progress with raised eyebrows. She made eye contact with you briefly, the flicker of a smile passing over her lips, before looking up to the back of her son’s head. “Don’t forget the welcome dinner we have for the Redwyne’s tonight, Aemond.”

“We won’t, mother.”

Aemond rounded the corner and into the privacy of your spacious warm chambers, tossing you onto the mattress of the large bed where you bounced several times before he crawled on top of you. He traced the curves of your face, his fingers trailing a path down along the contours of your neck. His expression close to reverence as he gazed down at you, a curtain of silver hair framing your face. His exploratory hand ran the length of your body, curling under your skirts and caressing your trembling thighs. He nibbled a kiss to your parted lips. “Spread your legs for me.”

#aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond drabble #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #aemond angst #aemond fluff #prince aemond x reader #aemond stannies #pro aemond targaryen #aemond fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x reader smut #prince aemond #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen drabble

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lanadelray-gurl · 3 months

Text

“Can’t fix something that doesn’t want fixing.”

Warnings!!!: Smut,use of a mirror during sex?(idk if that counts) p n v,oral f and m receiving,cheating,no condom during sex(wrap before you tap) choking,hair pulling,slapping and scratching,Elvis cheating on Priscilla. Let me know if I missed any<3

Pairing: Elvis Presley x fem!reader

Plot: Elvis was always smooth with the ladies. But when he met a girl he wasn’t able to drive crazy he’s gotta know what he’s doing wrong.

It was pretty much your dream to go to an Elvis show,maybe even see if you could sleep with Elvis. You knew well he was with a new girl every night and you wanted a chance,you were also known to get around or to put it into better words no one was able to tie you down. You never liked staying with people very long,you liked to be free. Everyone in your family hated it,your mother disowned you and your father sent you packin’.

You weren’t going to complain,there was no point in doing so. What is done is done,you made it on your own. You worked your ass off and made your own money,you moved from your small town and went off to LA. At first it was tough living out there,barely scraping by due to the ‘luxury’ lifestyle. You started modeling just to make enough cash and it worked! You made it in the work of modeling,and you were well known around town.

You noticed how frowned upon it was for a lady to be interested in more than one man. But when it came to the men in your line of work..it was just “oh boys will be boys!” And “men have needs!” Well you weren’t having it! You took what you wanted from any man that would offer,you’d take someone new to your luxury apartment almost every other week. Yeah so what you liked sex? A girl has needs too. But during all this time you still haven’t seen an Elvis show or even seen Elvis! But tonight that was gonna change,you made sure once you knew tickets where available you bought them. You booked a room in the international hotel on the top floor,trying to up your chances to get close to Elvis.

You were finally escorted by your own personal security to the stage room,this was your chance. You made sure you were sitting up front,very close to the stage. Making sure he could see you,your (h/c) hair was pinned up nicely and you had on your best dress and heels. He was gonna see you tonight. He had to! Suddenly the lights dimmed,pulling you out of your thoughts. People were shuffling around to get to their seats as the show began to start,the curtains lifted slowly. You watched as Elvis walked onto the stage,guitar in his arms. He was wearing his glamorous white suit,he basically glimmered in the bright lights that shined towards the stage. He waved to his fans,smiling that beautiful smile. It made something inside of you twist and turn,your body started to feel warm and fuzzy. You heard everyone around you clap,whistle and shout. You couldn’t help but clap with them giving him your support.

He walked to the microphone,adjusted it and smirked shaking his head slightly while laughing to himself. The band started playing,that’s all right. He began to sing,his booming voice sending out chills in your body.

“Well that’s alright momma..”

You felt something inside you throb,you couldn’t tell if it was your heart or somewhere a bit lower..

“That’s all right for you..”

God you were going crazy,you sat there in your seat. Gripping onto the fabric of your dress,your breath was quick,your heart was racing. You had to have him.

As the show continued,you couldn’t control your arousal. You felt the wetness pour out of you and into your pretty pink panties. Your pussy clenched around nothing as he moved his hips and basically flayed around the stage. Soon the show came to an end,Elvis walked off the stage hugging and kissing the woman who came through his path. You stood right in front of Elvis,your heart raced in your chest.

He gently held your face,his strong hands made you shiver. His cold rings made your hot skin sting,he looked into your eyes the vibrate blue color was beautiful. He leaned in,pressing his pillowy lips into yours it felt like heaven,you kissed back deepening it. It surprised him normally with his fans it was quick and gentle but now with you..it felt hot and sensual. He pulled away and stared into your eyes..why was his heart racing? He felt hot all over maybe it was from his performance or maybe it was you…

You smiled at him,your hands lingering on top of his. He gave you a half smirk before walking off and going to his other fans. Elvis soon went with his Memphis mafia up to his lavish hotel room. You followed after them,they walked towards the elevator watching them enter and then once the door closed you watched the light above the door flicker as it went up each floor. You watched it stop at the very top floor and you smiled,he was on the same floor you were how lucky! You entered the elevator and pressed the bottom to the top floor,your heart racing praying you’d be able to get there in time to see Elvis.

Once the elevator stopped at the top floor you rushed out of the door. You felt desperate but who wouldn’t chase the opportunity to say they got to fuck Elvis! You weren’t missing this moment,you didn’t see him the hallway but you did see a door close just as you entered the hallway. You walked towards the door,noticing how it looked a bit more decorative than any of the other doors. Thats gotta be his room,you walked towards the door and with a shaking hand and a heavy sigh you knocked on the door,you heard heavy steps walking towards the door. You were quick to smooth out your dress and slick back any stray hairs,you leaned against the door frame popping out your curvy hips. Once the door opened you were face to face with Elvis but instead of his jumpsuit he was wearing a black and burgundy silk robe.

“Hey there darlin’..you lost little lady?”

He tilted his head slightly,a cigar hung between his teeth,with his silk robe he wore sunglasses with gold rims. He had a slight smirk,he remembered you from the show. You were the girl who made his heart race.

“I’m awfully lonely tonight..and by the looks of it..”you glanced around his room,it was empty but well decorated. His wife was no where to be seen. “You seem pretty lonely too..” you giggled softly. Elvis took the cigar from his teeth and held it between two ringed figures,he suddenly moved from in front of the door and let you inside..who was he to deny a girl some company?

You walked into the room,taking in the loud and elaborate colors and decorations,taking note of each detail. Your hips swayed as you walked which caught his eye,he rested that cigar on a nearby ashtray and followed behind you. His hand made its way around your waist,you of course smiled eating up all of his attention. You were guided into his room,you dropped you purse on the floor and kicked off your heels while biting your bottom lip. You sat back on his big,plush bed. Lifting up one of your feet and pressing it against his chest. He gently held onto your calf,pressing kisses against the top of your foot and down to your knee.

God you were intoxicating,you weren’t like the other girls who came and went..no you were like fresh air. You knew what you wanted and you weren’t gonna leave until you got it. You were like him..that’s what it was. He pulled down the straps of your dress before sitting on his knees between your legs and reaching behind you,unzipping your pretty dress. You allowed it,tilted your head and smiling smug down at him. You stood up letting the dress fall of your beautiful body,he stared up at you from the floor,kissing you thighs and admiring you pink lace panties and matching bra. He worshiped your body,your soft skin driving him crazy..he finally stood up,but slowly making sure to kiss your thighs up your stomach and then stopping at the top of your breast once he stood up fully,towering over you.

He gently caressed you arm up to your cheek. He gently held your face and you leaned into the gentle touch. Enjoying it while it lasted,before he leaned forward to kiss you,but you pressed a finger against his lips. You shook your head and reached up and took off his sunglasses.

“I wanna see those pretty blues honey..”

You spoke gently before you finally pressed your lips against his. You tossed his glasses off to the side,your hands now working on untying the silk robe,once the front of the robe opened you pulled away and looked down at his slightly toned but still soft and plush body. You ran your hand over the exposed skin and stop and the band of his black briefs,you smiled and glanced up at him.

“We’re gonna take care of little Elvis..can I?”

You questioned,he of course nodded “I’d like that very much momma..” he spoke gently and watched as you dropped to your knees,you slowly pulled down the briefs. His cock was half hard,bouncing slightly as it twitched from the sudden chill of the cold air,you parted your plump pink lips and wrapped it around the uncut head. You swirled your skillful tongue around the salty flesh,he gently gripped onto your hair messing it up,not that you cared..you felt as his cock twitched once more as it got fully hard. You couldn’t fit all of it down your throat,you used your hands and stroke the rest of the shaft down to the base.

You bobbed your head skillfully “fuck— god that mouth is so good honey,don’t stop that babydoll..” He moaned loudly and started to thrust into your mouth making you gag,spit dripping down your chin onto his full balls. He continued to thrust down your throat pulling your hair forcefully,making you whimper around his cock. This made his breath hitch in his throat,he finally slammed your head into his pelvis,your nose buried deep into his light colored pubes. You always forgot he used to be a blond. You slapped his thigh before he released your head,you fell back onto your ass trying to catch your breath,one had held you up and one wiped you slobbering mouth.

His cock twitched wildly,he looked up at the ceiling before closing his eyes and catching his breath,he looked down at you and smirked tilted his head towards the bed. “Up on the bed..lay on your back momma.” He demanded and you obliged. You got up,crawled onto the bed. You laid on your back,Elvis stood at the end of the bed after kicking off his briefs he got onto the bed sitting on his knees in front of you. He yanked off your panties and put them into the pocket of the silk robe. You bit your bottom lip and squirmed,he grabbed the bottom of your thighs and putting them on either side of his hips,he put his middle and ring finger in his mouth,wetting them.

Elvis gently pressed his wet digits against your tight hole,you arched your back as you felt the pressure. The two fingers finally pressed into your wet pussy,curling up and pumping into you slowly. You moaned loudly and gripped into the sheets “Elvis! F—fuu-!!” You clapped a hand over your mouth and tried to hide your moans,he quickly gripped your wrist with his free hand and uncovered your mouth. “No no no baby..I need to what this pretty moans babydoll..” he growled and pumped into your tight,wet cunt faster

“A-ah! P-please Elvis s-slow down!”

You started to whimper and beg,your already messed up makeup just getting worse from your ongoing tears. Her firmly but gently pressed his thumb against your neglected clit,you started to curl up into yourself and you squirmed and moaned. It felt like hot lightning was running through your body as you rocked into his hand,his thumb making swift and quick circles against your now throbbing clit. You let your eyes roll back into your head your mouth hung open and you whimpered loudly as your eyes fluttered shut as you came on his fingers.

Your back arched off the bed for a few moments,your legs twitched and started shaking. He pulled his fingers away with a smile,he leaned over you as you came down from your orgasm. You felt him press hot wet kisses against your skin,he gently rocked his hips against you,his leaking tip rubbed against your tip. This made you cry out “hmm baby..so wet and so pretty oh honey I’m gonna fuck you senseless..” he whispered in your ear before pressing more kissing against your neck and collarbone,he reached behind you and unclipped your bra revealing you basically perfect breast. He left a trail of open mouth kisses against down to your left breast,he took the hardened nipple between his lips before gently biting on it and sucking,his other hand gently grabbed onto your right breast and he started to gun it softly.

With his other hand he held onto his shaft and slowly pressed Into your warm pussy. He let out a shuddered gasp,his mouth hung open and his eyes shut. You grabbed onto him,one hand scratching his back from over the silk robe and the other pulling his hair. He groaned loudly,his held you close to his body and thrusted into you. He pushed you back down into the bed and looked down at you he was growling and grunting like an animal. “So fucking tight— such a good girl coming to my room and basically begging me to f-fuck that tight pussy ah fuck” he tried to catch his breath. He picked you up,moving you with him.

He sat at the edge of the bed making you ride him ,a mirror facing the both of you. He watched as your pussy took his cock so good,he rocked your hips sloppily. “Look at me fuck you honey..l-look how good y-your pussy take my lil Elvis..” You looked over your shoulder and watched yourself in the mirror. “Fuck Elvis..your cock feels so g-good! Fuck!” You moaned loudly and arched your back,you let out loud soft whimpers. He slapped your ass as hard as he could the rings on his fingers making large marks against the already large handprint. You felt a turning sensation start in your stomach,you knew you were about to cum. You grabbed onto his shoulders erratically,trying to reach your climax.

“You gonna cum? My babydoll wanna cum? Come on go ahead cum all over daddy’s cock darlin’…”

he moaned into your ear,he watched your rockin’ hips in the mirror and scratched your soft gentle skin. You cried out,tears flooding your eyes and the rest of the already running mascara dripped down your cheeks. You finally started to sloppily and erratically rock and shake your hips down into his cock. Your climax hit you like a truck,you slumped over on his shoulder and continued to let him fuck your swollen and puffy pussy,causing you to become overstimulated. You continued to twitch and shake on his cock. He grabbed onto your hips with all the strength he had left,definitely gonna leave bruises on that pretty skin.

Elvis was reaching his orgasm and he started to twitch crazily,he made you looked at him while he smirked “Make daddy cum baby,make daddy cum..—“ He moans loudly and he started to thrust up into your abused and sore cunt,he watched as your face twisted and turned. Finally you felt the warm squirts of his hot cum feeling you up,he groaned loudly and slammed you down on his cock. Before you knew it,you were being laid down back onto the bed. Elvis settled his face between your legs,your legs behind placed over his shoulders. You started whimpering and squirming trying to get away from him “E-Elvis..it’s too sensitive!—“ you were cut off by Elvis gently sucking your swollen clit,you cried out and sobbed into your hand. You couldnt handle it,his tongue traced over your hot slit,licking up his and your cum. His tongue prodded at your hole,it made you crazy you couldn’t help it but you gripped onto his hair and pressed his perfect face into your slit. You came all over his face,rocking your hips against his nose before finally letting him go. He lifted up his face,his perfectly sculpted face was glistening from your sweet cum,you looked down at him and watched him smirk before plopping your head back down onto the pillow.

Once you plopped you head back down on the pillow you passed out,only waking up hours later into the night. You were cleaned and wearing a nice silk robe..he must’ve cleaned you off and gotten you covered up. You sat up and looked around,you were then face to face with a sleeping Elvis..you needed to leave. You slowly got out of the bed,grabbing your clothes and your heels. You tried to find your underwear but remembered Elvis took them,you decided to let him keep them,you wouldn’t miss them too much..

You creeped out of the bedroom and then you looked around making sure no one was there,you saw one the members of the Memphis mafia laying and sleeping on the couch. You tried to be extra quiet,you then walked out of the front door and leaned up against the now shut front door,you sighed heavily before rushing down the hallway and into your hotel room. You slammed your door and sat down on the floor against the door “I just fucked Elvis Presley..” you whispered to yourself,you smiled and laughed while combing you hands through your messy hair.

Elvis woke up that morning,expecting to see the beautiful woman from the night before. “Shit..” he looked around frantically and confused. He got out of bed and put on his robe,checking the whole room. You were gone..you didn’t even bother to say goodbye..normally he was the one doing the running after a night of fuckin’. He shook his head and laughed to himself while holding his forehead,what did he do to run you off? He had to find out..he called his buddy

“hey..yeah it’s me E..I need you to figure something out for me..Yeah I need you to find someone for me..”

This was gonna haunt him for as long as he lived..he needed to find out who you were..you were who he wanted.

Okay! That’s the fanfic! I kinda left it on a cliffhanger incase I wanted to make this a story I’m no totally sure so let me know what you think! Don’t forget that request are open<3

#Spotify #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis aaron presley #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic

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onlyfanssweetluna · 5 months

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New post 😘🧡 links in bio

#+18 or +adult only #18+ only #curvy model #onlyf@nz #thick vibes only #big tiddy committee #submisive and breedable #adult model #married submisive #onlytease #new post #fyp2023 #free use kink #fansli #fifty shades darker #fantasy #linkinbio

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ice-creamforbreakfast · 2 years

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::Download:: (Patreon - Free from 25th September 2022)

It was a close vote between The Real Housewives of Simnation (Nancy, Judith and Bella) and the Calientes, so I decided to give them a nod too, and it would be rude not to include Anaya in this, so she's also an official Real Housewife now (in The Sims at least!).

Each item comes in fifty swatches unless the description states otherwise.

Bella Dress - An asymmetric draped dress with a floral lace corset

Nina & Dina Dresses - Mini-dresses with a sequin collar and scallop sequin trim in gold and silver options

Nancy Dress - A very 2000s dress with a ruffle hem and sequins on the upper part and ruffles

Judith Dress - An off the shoulder full length dress with lace sleeves and overlay

Anaya Jumpsuit - An asymmetric jumpsuit with a metallic belt (six shade accessory overlay included) and five additional patterned swatches

#ts4cc #ts4mm #maxis match #download: clothing #s4cc #ts4 #thesims4

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proselfship-imagine-hub · 3 months

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since there's a lot accounts that either don't have a dni, or will say something vague like, "just be nice", and i don't want to risk reblogging any selfship posts from antis/people who will be rude or violent towards me and other proshippers for interacting:

if you are not proship and make selfship posts, but are fine with proshippers interacting with you, please in some way interact with this post! like it, comment, reblog, whatever—feel free to even specify that you're not proship, just fine with us interacting if you want to make sure your followers don't get confused

but also, if you are proship and you make selfship posts, feel free to interact as well! i just want to expand the amount of people who i'm reblogging from because i feel like i'm only reblogging from the same handful of folks, and well, i want this be a blog that showcases the welcoming and kind side of the selfship community as a whole—proship or not 💛

also, for those who don't know what the proship stance is, or those who have been misinformed, here is the definition of proship and an explanation of what being proship means:

proship means you pro/for shipping, the same way someone who is pro abortion is pro/for abortion, "pro" is not short problematic like some will try to say it

this is a belief that people should not be shamed or harrassed for the ship dynamics they like or engage in with fictional characters, even if those dynamics are ones you find disgusting, squicky, or triggering. blocking, blacklisting, and or just ignoring tags and users is encouraged

it does not mean that you like every ship dynamics, or even the people who ship those dynamics, it just means you acknowledge the fact that while fiction affects reality, it does not do so on a 1 to 1 ratio

like how watching a horror movie may upset you or may make you excited, it is not going to make you a murder, or even make you want to murder people. and in the very rare case that someone does decide to commit a murder after being inspired by a horror movie, the blame still lies fully on them because they still made the choice the murder, the movie may have caused inspiration but it did not force them to act on those inspirations. giving any blame to the movie in this case is saying that people are not responsible for their actions, that emotions and feelings are understandable excuses, removes accountability from and give justification to abusers, and allows other kinds of abusers to use similar means of defense such as "well, she was wearing a short skirt and i couldn't help myself!"

and for an example specifically about not liking ships, i do not like ships featuring any child aged characters, including child x child/teen/adult, loli, shota, etcetera, but i do not harrass, shame, and or accuse these people of being pedophiles or anything. i block people who ship these ships and block any related tags to avoid seeing this kind of dynamic but that's it. i acknowledge that people who like seeing murder in media most often have no desire to see murder in real life and that this same logic applies to other crimes depicted in fiction, such as incest, domestic abuse, and yes, even pedophilia

being proship also doesn't mean shutting down discussions around media, it just means not censoring that media so that those discussions can take place. to give an example, i find racist and homophobic stories, movies, etcetera disgusting but i do not want them censored, because if we censor them we remove our means to analyze, debate, and discuss these stories/etcetera and the people who make them

take the phenomenon around the popularity of Fifty Shades of Gray where suddenly there was a lot of new easily accessible information on how those scenes were wrong, but here's how to do kink properly and safely. if we had censored Fifty Shades of Gray out of fear people would have began sexually abusing each other, we never would have gotten all the wonderful education and discussions that we did

also, proship refers solely to the belief, not the dynamics of certain ships often associated with proshipper. either you are proship, a proshipper, or you beliving in proshipping, but you cannot ship a "proship" nor is there such thing a "proship ship" since proship is a belief, not a dynamic

*note, if you wish just to reblog the definition and explanation of proship that i gave, you can find it here: [○•♡click here♡•○]

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777rare · 1 year

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ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PT.3 (song edition pt.1)

disclaimer:

DO NOT READ FURTHUR IF YOU ARE A MINOR!!

THIS CONTAINS MENTIONING OF seggs so please scroll if ur below 18+

THESE NOTES ARE ONLY A STUDY OF MINE AND HAS/HAS NOT BEEN PROVEN YET, SO IF IT DOES NOT RESONATE WITH YOU, FORGIVE ME AS IT WAS ONLY A STUDY/OBSERVATION OF MINE.

I DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY OR REWORD ANY OF MY FELLOW ASTROLOGY OBSERVERS POSTS AND I DEMAND THE SAME IN RETURN

• If chiron in aquarius/11th HOUSE effects were put in a song, it would be -

• THE PLACEMENTS BELOW -

Lilith in libra,scorpio,capricorn,Taurus

Lilith in 7th,10th,1st,8th,6th

Venus in aquarius,capricorn,scorpio

Lilith-sun,moon,asc,Mc

Pluto,Lilith dominance

Venus-pluto aspects(esp. Square, conj)

Pluto-lilith aspects.

SPEAKS/GIVES OFF ⬇️ VIBES

• If Gemini Mars were Horny, the best song to describe it is -

• If capricorn/10th HOUSE Venus/lilith were a song it would be-

• If uranus conjuct mercury/venus in 12th house and the native has someone on their mind all the time, the best song to describe it is-

• if Capricorn moon has 2 horny sides it either be-

• If cancer mars men expressed their love through a song it would be-

• The two sides of Air Mars when they're horny are-

AND

THE WEEKEND SONGS EXPRESS ALL THE AIR MARS SIGNS.

JUSTIN BIEBER SONGS EXPRESS ALL THE FIRE MARS

SELENA GOMEZ/ JASON DERULO SONGS EXPRESS ALL THE EARTH MARS

BRUNO MARS/ SILK SONIC SONGS EXPRESS ALL THE WATER MARS

I've noticed a lot of people with sexual/personal planets in EARTH placements(esp. Capricorn, Mars or moon) love listening to slowed reverb. Or even listen to music that's got slow beats, sexy or sensual beats that make them wet or feel sexy. Also, these guys look hott in slow motion vedios with a slowed reverb playing in the background.🔥😩🤤

Hope y'all enjoyed today's post! Have a great day ahead!🏝💘

Feel free to reblog and tag me when you do❤🙌🏻

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piratefalls · 2 months

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i'm back! between work and trying to write my first fic for this fandom i've been falling really behind on reading, so for now these are going to be a more bi-weekly occurrence than weekly. in any event, there's truly a little bit here for everyone, so enjoy this week's mix of a+ works!

masterlist

you and me, babe, how about it? by @myheartalivewrites

Alex sits in the back of their Secret Service approved, PPO driven Land Rover, excitement thrumming through his body. The leather squeaks as he fidgets incessantly; his skin burns where Kieran’s shoulder is pressed into his, despite the layers of fabric between them. On the other side of Kieran, he can see Henry’s fingers twitch on top of his own knee, playing an imaginary piano, flicking out and squeezing in before releasing and starting again. Like he’s so fucking desperate to reach out and touch the leg next to his he’s having to muster up all of his self-control, draw on all the years of keeping himself restrained, just to not start things too soon. Alex can’t believe they’re actually, finally, doing this.

you know i can't be found with you by stutteringpeach

“He’s cute,” Alex declares on the first day of class. Liam doesn’t even bother to look up from his laptop. “Uh huh.” “The professor.” Liam makes a non-committal noise. “I’m gonna fuck him.”

Longer Than Most by happinessofthepursuit

“Oh,” Alex says. “Sick.” Henry can’t help but grin. He can’t believe he’s so bloody gone on a man who says sick and dude, who he’s slept with all of one time and proceeded to knock him up. Henry’s a cliche, honestly. “It is, indeed, sick, as you say.” Alex rolls his eyes, but his cheeks darken a shade, giving him away a bit. “Listen, the closest I get to poetry is your fucking face. Excuse me if my vocabulary doesn’t quite compare to yours.” Or, Alex and Henry have a one night stand. That is, until a baby’s involved.

Baby (Let Me Put On a Show) by SatinBirds

It’s been five months, and still Alex is never completely prepared for Henry’s performances. Private or otherwise. Or, Henry is a night dancer, and he’s everything Alex wants.

Sun Salutations (Waif for Me) by @duchessdepolignaca03

He repeats the movement five or six times, his body heating up with each repetition, loosening the hangovers’ grip on him through very effective breathwork. Wanting to open up his hips a little bit more, he settles into a wide-legged forward fold. He holds the pose, enjoying the delicious stretch on his lower back and virtually all the muscles of his lower body. Then he just about jumps out of his skin when he hears, “Mmm, breakfast is served.” Or: Alex parties hard on a Thursday night and has some deliciously anonymous sex with the glittery blond he calls Waif. When he wakes to do his naked sun salutations, he learns that Waif is a very, very hungry, 'temporarily unhoused' boy whom Alex quickly invites to live rent-free in his head.

secret, scars, and trust by viciouslyqueer

He trails off and Henry takes the opportunity to cup his cheek, gently swiping his thumb over the smooth skin. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything. We can stop right now if you want to, or cuddle for a while. I can put on a movie if you’d like. I don’t mind either way.” Alex’s smile grows and he leans into the touch, pecking Henry’s lips again. “Thanks, baby,” he murmurs, and Henry has to fight the urge to react at the pet name. “But it’s not that. I want to keep going, if you want it, too. I just have to tell you something before, okay?”

make it five by anincompletelist

“Fifty bucks says I can get that guy’s number.” Popping the bubble of cinnamon-flavored gum Alex had just blown, he glances up from his phone to look at where Nora’s pointing. Just over the soles of his shoes, crossed at the ankles and propped on the flaking black wood of the shop’s front desk, there’s a man with broad shoulders lingering by the far wall. Alex hadn’t even heard the guy come in. “Nora. He’s literally looking at one of the biggest dildos I’ve ever seen,” he deadpans quietly. + alex works at a sex toy shop. it's usually a pretty easy job — if he could just stop daydreaming about the blonde guy that keeps coming in to buy literally all of alex's favorite sex toys.

talk by smc_27

Henry records himself for an audio erotica app. Alex finds it. And listens.

Got a ticket for two by clottedcreamfudge

Henry likes his apartment - he has done since the day he moved in a year ago. The light in the sitting room is gorgeous at all times of day thanks to the ceiling to floor windows which lead out onto a south-facing balcony, only just large enough for the plethora of plantlife his flatmates care for. The kitchen is always stocked with his favourite tea, everyone keeps to their allotted cupboard and fridge space, and the bathrooms are kept meticulously clean. There's a rota for chores stuck to the fridge with magnets from Rhode Island and Minnesota, London and Milan, with everything typed up neatly so that nobody has to squint to read someone else's awful handwriting. His flatmates themselves? Well, they're a little… strange.

Far Away From the One That I Love by allmylovesatonce

It's been an agonizing two months of Henry being in London and Alex being in New York. When an opportunity to finally be reunited with Henry comes his way, Alex jumps on it. But things don't go quite how they expected after so much time away.

If We're Caught in a Wage (I Will Carry You Over) by @sparklepocalypse

There it is, up ahead – the small island just offshore, with Alex’s favorite broad, flat stone outcropping, perfect for sunning himself in seclusion. He splashes into the shallows and dives in when the water’s up to his knees, and it’s a matter of maybe a minute’s swim to reach the island. Alex finds his footing among the sand and pebbles, pulls himself upright, and shakes the water out of his hair, then pushes it back from his face. He can practically hear the outcropping calling to him -- you know, if inanimate rock could speak. Alex stretches, his mid-back satisfyingly popping, and then skirts his way between some larger rocks until his sunning rock is in view. Except – there’s someone already on the outcropping, their short blond hair shimmering in the sunshine, the upper slant of their shoulders visible from where Alex is standing. (Movie or Bookverse AU; Alex rents a remote beach house and Henry is a cecaelia.)

Protect Your Solitude by graceofgrayskull

At the 2016 Rio Olympics, Alex stumbles onto Prince Henry crying in a storage closet and is forced to rewrite his perception of their first meeting.

Out For A Bite by everwitch

Henry's eyes fly up, zeroing in on the reflection in the mirror. There, behind him. The man from the bar. He looks different in the fluorescent bathroom lights. Sharper. There’s a look in his eyes that has Henry shivering all over again. It's greedy. Hungry. He’s staring right at Henry. Henry's throat feels dry. His heart beats madly. He's heard whispers of this place, and more importantly of its patrons. He thinks he knows what this man is.

each time we touch / i wanna take too much by @firenati0n

my fingers slipped and now there are fingers in mouths. wrote this in one sitting at 5am today. please forgive any egregious errors, i wrote it without my glasses on and on no sleep lol. hope you like it. <3 title from New Girl by FINNEAS

you took the time to memorize me (my fears, my hopes, my dreams) by coffeecatsme

The tour guide has a small bisexual flag pinned to his chest, right next to where his name is scrawled in big, bold letters. Alex, it reads; simple, to the point. The name tag rests on a red and black flannel, and underneath is a white t-shirt with Georgetown’s name stretched on the front, reminding Henry ever so starkly that he’s thousands of miles away from what he calls home. The flannel stretches over broad shoulders leading up to a strong jaw, all in contrast with the bright, dimpled grin stretched over a beautiful face. Henry thinks there isn't a place on the world far enough away from his grandmother to escape her clutches - even after transferring to Georgetown. Then, his tour guide extends a helping hand and shows him otherwise. Or, 5 steps Alex and Henry take to memorize each other and 1 time they realize they already do.

Praise & Supplication by NoCoastPosts

Alex is always moving, always going, always seeking. He is defiance and brashness tinged with anxiety, but not in these moments. Henry pins him down with a gaze as heavy as his touch, and all of Alex’s motions cease. He is calm, he is obedient, he is pliable. He knows he’ll be broken apart piece by piece, sending waves of heat deep into his core. or When Alex gets stuck in his head, Henry helps him let go.

Another Door Opens by 14carrotgold

Henry takes a long drink. “If it makes you feel any better, my dad's dead. He and my mum had the type of love straight from the storybooks and it got cut tragically short, so what is the point in finding something real if it's just going to hurt you?” Alex bites back a smile and shakes his head. “How in the fuck was that supposed to make me feel better?” He waves his hand awkwardly. “Oh, I just thought we were both sharing the trauma that impacted our romantic relationships.” - Henry and Alex first meet when Henry reveals their partners are cheating on them with each other.

Fifteen Hours Till Forever by inexplicablymine

“I would say that in this life, we aren’t granted many chances at true happiness, at the unadulterated freedom and joy that comes to the lucky ones. I would say that I know right now only fifteen feet apart, fifteen hours till forever, and somehow the universe has decided I ought to be one of the luckiest there are.” “But tomorrow,” he continues, “when we are saying our vows, when we are promising ourselves to one another forever, I want you to look me in the eyes and know that you are it for me.” OR The year is 2025, and the world doesn't know they are getting married.

home by rizcriz

For a moment he fears Henry’s been outed against his will somehow, but he scrolls down to find a video clip. Unable to trust himself to watch the video, he scrolls a little further to read the transcript. He learns that Henry had come out during a ribbon cutting, of all things. He’d stood in front of a crowd of a couple hundred people gathered for the opening of a new youth shelter, and he’d told his truth. Alex is tempted to watch the video, to examine his body language to see if it was planned or not, but he reads further and one sentence stands out to tell him it wasn’t. There is no comment yet from Buckingham Palace. -- or, six months after Henry rejected Alex at Kensington Palace.

The Way of Things by writerkenna

Henry and Alex have been very much enjoying the life they’ve managed to carve out for themselves. They’ve had to compromise and work and change to maintain it, but it’s worth it. Henry finds himself pregnant, though, and everything they’ve built starts to turn on its head. as always, let me know if you want to be tagged either because you're a writer or a reader (or both!) and i'll see you next time!

My life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person by lizzie_bennetdarcy

Alex plans to be a lot of firsts in the world. But this absolutely isn't the kind of first he was thinking. He stares wide-eyed into the mirror at the letters on his shoulder while June whines to be let in. Alex finally unlocks the door and June bursts through. “Show me!” Wordlessly, Alex turns to show her his back. "What the actual fuck?" June exclaims, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, that was rude, but — is it more than one person?" Or: Five times Alex doesn't find his soulmate, and one time he does

tagging: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels @midnightsfp @sarahjswift omg i feel like i'm missing someone

#rwrb rec list #rwrb #rwrb fic #firstprince #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfiction #alexhenry #firstprince fanfiction

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