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casspurrjoybell-18 · 1 year

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Mutual Desire - Chapter 20a

*Warning - Adult Content*

Never had Damien's cheek witness a kiss so...

So what?

Sensual?

Intimate?

Full of evocations?

Damien couldn't describe this kiss on the cheek.

In fact, he was unable to define or even go as far as elucidating what had happened in the limousine with Nabokov.

Yet, he had barely managed to sleep, since he couldn't stop remembering the things that took place or preventing him from doing so.

And the few hours of sleep he had, had been exhausted in an almost erotic dream where he and Nabokov were in action.

In the dream, Nabokov's lips had reached Damien's and then a fiery kiss had promptly and intensely formed.

A mix of tongues that had attained its climax when Damien found himself straddling the Russian man, kissing him with ferocity almost worrying.

The dream had came to an abrupt end when Damien began undoing Nabokov's fly.

Even his own dreams seemed to be self aware of going way too far and interrupted the critical moment where everything was inevitably going to go beyond all that was known to follow a kiss.

When he woke up, Damien's manhood was in full erection and he knew it had nothing to do with a customary morning wood.

When he awoke, Damien let out a sigh of relief when he realized that Craig was neither on the other side of the bed nor in the room.

He got up from the bed, wearing his erection with shame and stalked to the bathroom.

Arriving there, he quickly brushed his teeth and then he rushed into the bath, having purely in mind to get rid of this unwanted erection.

He poured the cold water on him, while his hand gripped his hardened member where he began some slow back and forth movements.

His breathing gasped as his hand became more aggressive on his shaft, activating the movements with brutality and impatience.

Damien only wanted to think of Craig during the perverse act he found very shameful.

He genuinely wanted to have in mind, the times Craig had made love to him but these personal memories didn't appear.

Instead, it was the very fresh imageries of Nabokov kiss on the cheek that was performing a show in Damien's completely lost and incoherent mind.

He would have never thought a simple innocent kiss would cause his erection to go away.

Was it because he was sexually frustrated?

Granted, that might have been a valid reason a few days ago when he could barely see Craig and hadn't been touched by his man for ages.

However, this was no longer the case since the two men had made up after their argument.

On the contrary, Damien was currently wonderfully sexually satisfied and his desire for Craig had hardly lessened.

So why had he dreamed erotically of a man other than his?

This question was just as much as a mystery as Nabokov's kiss.

Damien saw no valid reason why he was making a big deal out of a lucid dream.

A dream remained a dream.

Something no human on earth could control.

So, he didn't need to feel any guilt or blame himself for the inexplicable products of his brain.

A brain that gave the impression of being rather impulsive lately.

Damien satisfied his urgent needs by coming in the bath, a minute later, on the memories of his dream about Nabokov exploding all over his head.

He didn't look at his manhood, his eyes remaining carefully closed throughout the act.

Damien took a moment to regain his breath, which was still panting.

After another minute, he quietly washed, while a feeling of terrible shame seized him.

Though he couldn't control his dreams, he nonetheless had control over the thoughts that could represent the cause of him reaching orgasm.

And the fact that it was another man who was responsible for it was something that Damien couldn't accept and believe.

Was it somehow a form of cheating?

Damien quickly chased his absurd thoughts and questions away and finished washing.

He went to the room to dress.

He rummaged through Craig's drawer and he lent an Adidas black jogging pants to his boyfriend but didn't take any shirt to cover his upper body, deciding to stay shirtless.

He was on his way to get out of the bedroom but stopped when his cell-phone that was charging on the bedside table, vibrated.

He took the smart phone where Eric's name appeared on the touch screen.

Eric rarely called and Damien sensed something must be wrong.

"Hey Eric."

As soon as he spoke, Damien Clark realized his voice had turned hoarse. He cleared his throat gently.

"Did you just masturbate?" Eric asked clearly unbothered by the nature of his question.

Damien began to giggle nervously.

Eric seemed to be the only person in the world who could make his lack of tact appears somewhat of a quality.

At least Damien secured confirmation that nothing bad had happened.

"What? No. Why do you say that?" Damien asked, a smile on his lips.

"Your voice sounds like someone who has just masturbated."

"No, I just got out of the shower and..."

"So, I'm right, you just masturbate," Eric said, confirming his own assumptions.

Damien's nervous chuckle turned into laughter.

"You called me to make this observation?" Damien asked with a big smile.

"Yes, it's a new hobby of mine."

If Damien didn't know Eric for more than five years and someone had told him that his close friend was a former lawyer, Damien would have laughed hysterically.

However, Eric did indeed do this profession but one day he decided to dump everything to become a bartender.

His life as a lawyer was unbearable and he wasn't happy.

But everything had changed when he had alternated professions.

Being of a social nature and possessing a gift of being pleasant to be around with, working in a bar was the ideal job and the most important was that he was now a content man.

"So, what"s up?"

"I won't bust your balls any longer and I'll let you go back to your masturbation session."

"That's very nice of you," Damien said with a grin.

"Julia and Sam's fiancée decided to organize a bowling night between couples tomorrow."

Damien was surprised to say the least by this information, considering how bad the evening went the last time the couples had a night out between them.

Damien didn't expect another date like this one to be organized anytime soon, but it looks like he was mistaken.

"Well, thanks for the info. Bye, Eric," Damien said, trying to save himself from an invitation to a bowling night.

"If you hang up, Dam, I'll post the picture that Dimitri took of you at the Las Vegas strip-club."

Damien barely had any memories of that infamous night at this Las Vegas strip-club two years ago.

The only images that were memorized in his head were some videos and an abundance picture taking.

Some of those pictures being of himself, not exactly flattery and downright embarrassing.

"Wow, you're blackmailing me, now," Damien retorted falsely shock.

"Don't be selfish. Don't let Sam and I be the only ones to suffer. We need your support and Craig's, man."

Unlike his friends, Damien didn't really have anything against a night out between couples from time to time.

But his friends didn't share this idea, far from it.

They found this type of date totally uncomfortable and cringe worthy.

And the fact the previous couples night went sour only accentuated the scorn that Damien's friends had for this kind of outing.

During the last date between the couples, Dimitri was accompanied by his one-night stand of the moment who, Julia, Eric' wife wasn't feeling at all.

The two women suddenly got into a minor altercation that turned into something of a few seconds fight.

Alcohol really had the gift of fucking everything up.

"Let me see with Craig, and I'll get back to you."

"We're counting on you, Dam. We need whatever support we can get, man."

Damien smiled.

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do."

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

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Best Friends Forever

Summary: Your best friend finally has you back after all these years, tied up on his bed and ready to learn your lesson.

Tw: nsfw, non-con, slight mention of blood, threats, choking, slight degradation, dirty talk, cursing, infantilization, possessive behavior, patronizing behavior, overuse of petnames, slight dom vibezz

You knew your boyfriend was a lost cause, an addict so gone he would have done anything for a fix, but you never expected him to stoop so fucking low.

You had woken up in a suspiciously familiar place, laying on sheets oh so soft, puffy and white you simply couldn’t mistake the bed you were on. The walls were painted in black and blue, a combination so deeply engraved in your mind you couldn’t shake off the feeling you weren’t trully conscious, but dreaming of a happy yet distant memory of the past. It took you less than a second to realize you were in his room - the one where you had spent so many joyfull sleepless nights back in your youth. The relief was short - lived, though, because the moment you tried to move around, you became aware of the tight rope keeping your sore limbs tied to the wooden bed frame. After a while of twisting and thrashing around while screaming at the top of your lungs for help you finally heard the door open. You hoped you would at last be able to go home now, still desperate to believe this was merely a prank, a way for your junkie of a boyfriend to scare you into giving him money.

“There is no use trying to escape the bonds, my little love.” His voice emited through the small room, low, smooth as butter and softer than ever. You tried to lift your head and catch a glipse of the person talking, just to make sure you weren’t imagining things or going insane. And there he was in all his glory, the boy, no, the man you knew well looking so different from how you remembered him, but still it felt impossible not to see the many similarities - from the unruly dark curls to the warm gray eyes that used to be your only guide during times of misery and pain. This was none other than your childhood best friend and you had absolutely no idea why you were tied to his bed. “Oliver, why on earth am I here?” You asked as soon as the initial shock had worn off, completely forgetting to address the weird petname the student had called you.

He smirked slightly before crossing the distance keeping him away from you, and carefully sat down by your left side. He reached out to stroke your cheek in an affectionate way, his fingers lingering for a moment too long for it to be considered a mere platonic gesture. You tried to turn your head away from the warm touch since it made you feel uncomfortable and left you with so many new questions. “I missed you so much, precious.” Oliver took a deep breath and smiled at you, gently moving your jawline so you had no choice but to face him once again. “I was so happy when that disgusting piece of shit you call a boyfriend offered you to me.” The man bent to your shoulder-level and whispered in your ear, his tone so full of sick satisfaction you could swear there was honey dripping from his mouth. “I paid a lot of money to have you back, sweetheart.” He licked his lips in an obscene, suggestive way and you had to supress the sudden urge to vomit as you finally remembered exaclty why you had stopped contacting your best friend once you had started college. The boy used to be clingy, obsessive even, but you could have never guessed it was that bad.

“Oliver, please untie me, you are scaring me.” You pleaded in a tiny voice, hoping to summon what was left of the goodness he had tucked away deep in his heart. In response the male only chuckled and shook his head as he placed a small kiss against your neck, causing you to shiver in discomfort and disgust while you were mentally debating whether you wanted to kill him or your ex boyfriend first. Soon your spiteful thoughts were replaced by panic when your captor brought his hand to your t-shirt and started unclasping the small buttons one by one. You couldn’t help but turn red from embarassment the moment you felt your nipples harden under his palm and you became painfully aware you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. Your former friend had your tender breasts exposed to the cold air in a matter of seconds, his terrible fingers already pinching and pulling at the erect tips. “You have such pretty tits, darling.” He said huskily while squeezing your boobs, licking and biting the stretched skin. You hissed in pain and squirmed in a desperate attempt to move away but the rope was holding you in place, tightening around your sore injured wrists even more.

“I have wanted you for so long, angel.” The student admitted quietly, his stormy eyes fixed on yours, his stare so intense it could burn a hole through you. “Tonight I will make you mine.” Oliver declared with a clear sense of confidence and claimed your lips in a quick rough manner, muffling your pitiful whimpers like a man starved and hungry for flesh. The forced kiss and his deranged words made your stomach turn but something in his longing gaze told you there was a lot more in store. The guess, much to your horror, was soon confirmed when the dark - haired male reached down between your parted legs and easily slipped your panties down to your ankles. With your last bit of protection gone you felt awfully vulnerable, literally naked in front of the beast too keen on the past to see how much he was hurting you right now, in the present. You wanted to scream the second his fat grabby fingers pried your folds open, but choking on your desperate sobs proved easier at that moment.

“Aww, don’t cry, angel.” Oliver growled playfully and slid his index into your tight entrance, quickly adding a second one before you had the time to adjust properly. “I have to prepare you, baby, otherwise my cock may just tear you apart.” He remarked in low sickening voice, the excuse too crude and vulgar to be an act of caring. You whined as your walls clenched down tight now that there were three fingers stretching your hole, and you berely managed to utter “too full” before your friend pulled you for a deep kiss again, his tongue devouring your mouth, leaving you breathless and queit while sucking in the sweet pained moans. “You can take it, babygirl.” The man groaned against your swollen red lips and grabbed your hips in a strong hold - you were sure there would be purple bruises there tomorrow.

Eventually, after half an hour of pushing his fingers in and out of your channel, lapping at your neck and leaving wet love marks all over your collarbone, the student was satisfied with his work. He had turned you into a whimpering mess and was ready to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor, whether you liked it or not. “I am going to put it in now, precious.” Oliver pecked you on the cheek just to lick the salty trace of tears off your puffy skin. “I will force my whole length in your perfect little pussy.” Your captor bit your sensitive earlobe and you broke down in tears like a kid, the threat ringing in your ears like the gospel. “This might hurt a bit so I advise you to stay still and relax, baby.” The way the man continued casually, almost cheerfully, as if he wasn’t about to brutally rape you, made your skin crawl, but there was nothing you could do. You were all tied up, powerless to stop him. Suddenly, without any warning, his hard thick member entered you, piercing pain spreading through your whole body. The student panted in pleasure as soon as he thrust his manhood into your heat, the way it sucked him in leaving him high and blissful. You let a few miserable whimpers, the ache too much to bear, his moves too harsh, sudden and deep.

“Don’t give me such a-agh tormented expression, my love.” Oliver quickly shushed you by putting his hand over your mouth and pressing down to prevent any noise that might have escaped. His gaze was lustful, insane, but also loving in a twisted, perverse way. “Fuck, I love you so much.” He muttered, his voice gentle for a split second before going back to being taunting and mocking. “I used to be so angry each and every time you dated another guy, another asshole who was only after your body.” The man was rambling now, his face turning red at his own vicious thoughts, his growing anger reflecting in his cloudy pupils and his painful thrusts. “You always chose them over me like a stupid little bitch ...” He whispered dangerously and lifted your body towards his own so you could take his hits even deeper, so deep that you could feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix. “Well, now you don’t have a choice, angel. I have claimed you and I will keep you here forever.” You were crying out in agony, your pussy clamping down around the enormous length slapping again and again against your core. It burned so bad you wished you could dissapear somewhere far away just so you could have a moment of relief. “Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’s almost over, you can take it for me, right?” The male cooed at you, switching back to that disgusting, infantilizing baby voice you had already grown to despise. When you failed to respond he gripped your throat, squeezing so tightly blood rushed to your cheeks and you inhaled sharply though your mouth only to feel the suffocation cut your breath short. “Answer me.” He barked through gritted teeth and you nodded frantically, desperate to gasp for air and cling onto dear life.

“Good girl.” Your former friend purred, pleased with your obedience, and let go of your neck, grabbing your hips instead. You coughed and drooled pathetically until you managed to resume your breathing, but the man, still buried deep inside you, seemed too caught up in chasing his own pleasure to notice how badly he had hurt you. Fortunately for you Oliver was really close, that much was obvious by his furious shoves at your abused cervix and his low growls each time he lowered his head to kiss you. Soon he came with a loud moan, painting your walls white, your ruined hole dripping with his seed and your blood.

Your captor seemed satisfied afterwards, peaceful in a way - there was a small smile adorining his cold lips as he wiped the tears off your face and squished your bruised body against his strong frame in a tight hug. You bit your tongue to stop the tears from overflowing once again, but to no avail. He let you sob in his arms until there wasn’t liquid left in your red, puffy eyes.

“You did very well, my love. I am really proud of you.” Oliver kissed your temple gently, resisting the temptation to graze you all over again with his lips, tongue and fingers. “I will help you clean up, then I will fix you some nice dinner.” He murmured in your ear, tickling the heirs on the back of your neck with his warm breath. “Doesn’t this sound good, baby?”

You closed your eyes and nodded slowly.

#yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #male yandere #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yancore #male yandere x you

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muscledemon666 · 3 years

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PREPARE FOR THE RISE OF SATAN

Each day more and more come to me asking what is happening to them. They don’t understand their reactions to hearing my voice. They virtually all say the same thing. “ I hear your voice and I get so hard. My cock won’t go down. I cum without touching myself. It is as if SATAN were speaking directly to me. Calling me. I’m hard 24/7...etc etc.”. So why is this? What does it mean? I will explain and hopefully prepare you as best I can. You can choose to believe me or not. When Satan’s warrior’s reached out to me in June of 2015... I had no idea of the journey I was about to embark on. Yes I knew long before that I was very different. That I had certain gifts that we NOT usual. As my education ( training and testing began ) there were moments of great fear. Literal threats to my life...but no matter what , nothing could deter me. I was on a course that I knew not where it would lead me. Test after test I was given...even though at times I thought I was failing, that was all part of HIS plan. Many of HIS WARRIORS came into my life. Men of such power, strength and beauty, it was beyond human concept. After I had been tested or they had been empowered by my gifts they left. Certain physical senses developed in me. Almost like an animal or best I can sense things about others. Even some famous people. Still I moved on. Now we are in the FINAL STAGES of HIS RISING and the awakening of HIS LEGIONS. WITHIN THE LAST SIX MONTHS major events have taken place around the world and with those I have guided. Some so EXTREME and SEVERE , that if I posted them on here my account would be banned. Within the last sixty days Priests & Ministers for many denominations ( Catholic, Anglican, S. Baptist, Assembly of God, Sect of Friars) have all come to me. From Chicago, DC, NYC, New England, Rome, Romania asking me to guide them in the love for Satan. Asking me to empower them. Free them. Why is this happening? Because my voice is not my own. My words are not from this meager man. When I speak you are hearing THE VOICE OF SATAN. MY WORDS ARE HIS MESSAGE TO EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU. I am no more than a Lighthouse guiding ships home in the night. All of you have longed and hungered for so long. Been search for the truth. HIS TRUTH! The Fires in CA In 2018, The city of Paradise burning to the ground, the mass shootings shortly after that. Holy Week of 2019 The fire of Notre Dame in Paris, the Virus in 2020 with the Church’s closed for Easter. The Comet of July 23, 2020, the December Christmas Star on 21st. These are HIS TRUMPETS calling you to awaken. Soon the fires will come in CA, they will be more powerful than ever before. As your lust grows the energy in your cock and balls will feed the fires. So now I tell you. Listen to my voice. Draw upon my energies, drink them up in the loins of your lust and the sacs of your manhood. Soon the COCK will be the true God and power of mankind. None will be able to resist it or us. Your seed will flow like mighty rivers renewing the earth. Look to Romania, for it is there that HE will start HIS RISE in the Sacred Valley. My next video will be FEED THE FIRE IN YOUR COCK. Say this prayer after you read this. “OH SACRED ONE...SATAN I BID YOU ENTER ME IN THE NAME OF DAR. AWAKEN ME TO THE POWER OF MY COCK AND BALLS. LET MY SEED SPEW FORTH EMPOWERING ALL WHO SEEK YOU. AWAKENING ALL WHO HUNGER. FOR IT IS OF SEED THAT MAN WAS BORN AND SEED HE MUST RETURN TOO. TO LIVE MAN MUST FEED OF SEED AND BE REBORN. IN THE NAME OF DAR I BOND AND BIND MYSELF ETERNALLY UNTO YOU. HAIL DAR, HAIL ALMIGHTY SATAN!” I remain here for all of you my brothers. Feel free to contact me on Wickr. I am demondar666 on that site. I ask that when you contact me you tell me your First name, age and location. Hail the power off Cock, Lust & Perversions!

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

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I both really want to read a conversion camp fic and really fucking DONT lol but I trust you to do it well and not absolutely destroy us so... I am asking for you to write the conversion camp fic please.

Oh, my plan is to absolutely destroy you all with this one.

This is modern bc it wasn’t gonna be but then I wrote a part and it kinda had to be lol

TW: religion, homophobia, transphobia (nd Steve), conversion camp, anxiety, depression, physical abuse, the word r*pe is thrown around, suicidal ideations, basically, it’s a DOOZY

Seriously, this shit gets DARK. I have A LOT of untapped emotions.

But it has a happy ending, don’t worry

Steve’s hands were shaking as they dug through his bag.

They had already pulled out the eyeshadow palette he had tried to sneak in, needed something to make himself feel okay in this inevitable Hell.

“Did you receive our guidelines?” They had found the lipstick he had shoved in one of his shoes. “We specifically outlined prohibited items.” He took a shaky breath. “Your perversion is much deeper than anticipated, Mr. Harrington.” He just nodded.

He was shuffled about, led to a cold blank room.

His first meeting with a conversion specialist.

“What is your infatuation with women’s things?” The man’s voice made Steve feel like there was cold water dripping down his back.

“I just like pretty things.”

“Why do you deny your manhood?”

“I don’t.”

“You say that, but you do. Every time you pretend you’re a woman-”

“I don’t pretend I’m a woman. I just like makeup and stuff.” He gave Steve a disgusted look.

“By denying your true self, you have turned your back on God. You have allowed the devil to infiltrate your soul, to convince you that these perversions are okay.” He looked down at the paper in his lap, the forms Steve had been forced to sit and fill out with his parents. “You were not close with your father, were you?”

“Um, no. Not really.”

“So you pushed away your male role model?”

“He pushed me away, more like.” The man pursed his lips.

“A father does not push away his son unless there is something evil within him. A father can always tell when there is something wrong, something disgusting in his offspring.” He stood up, towering over Steve.

“You are disgusting, Steven Harrington. You are perverse and foul. You turn your back on your Creator. But you are not without a savior. You can be saved. Denounce the devil that tempts you to this life. Follow your savior, and He will lead you to safety.” He held out his hand. Steve took a breath, and shook it.

Steve’s first day was a fucking nightmare.

He was led to his room, a small room with two bunked beds and no doors. He was told he’d have three roommates, and if they were caught touching one another, the punishment would be painful.

And then it was group therapy.

He sat in a circle with ten of the other boys from the program. They were forced to discuss every attraction they had ever felt to anyone besides women. They were forced to discuss sexual encounters they had had with men, and call themselves disgusting.

And as it was Steve’s turn, and he talked about wearing panties, and fingering himself, and sucking Tommy’s dick, and he felt disgusting.

At dinner he met one of his roommates, and his heart sank.

“Where’d they scrape you up?” The guy was fucking gorgeous.

“Indiana.”

“And you just a homo? Or...?” The guy’s voice trailed off as he looked Steve up and down. “You one a’ them crossdressers, too?” Steve flushed deeply.

“How, how did you know?”

“Because you look like they got to you already. Means they got something on you. Make you feel real bad about yourself.”

“How, how long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Seen plenty a’ boys come and go. Some cured, some just a lost cause.” He was so nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Why, why so long?” He grinned at Steve, sharp and beautiful.

“Because I’m immune, Pretty Boy.” Steve’s breath hitched. The guy licked over his teeth. “Can’t beat the gay outta me if they tried. And they fuckin’ have.”

“But why, why don’t you want to change? I mean, they’re, they’re right.” His blue eyes went cold.

“They got you deep. Damn, you might be the quickest turn around I’ve ever seen.”

“I just, I don’t want to be wrong anymore.” He leaned closer to Steve.

“You have never been wrong.” Steve felt like he was gonna cry.

A firm hand clapped down on Steve’s shoulder.

“William, I hope you’re treating our new guest nicely.” William’s face fell immediately.

“Yes, Father.” Steve looked up to see a priest holding onto him. His hair was greying and neat. His eyes were cold and dead.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take Steven with me.” Steve followed him, eyes downcast, all the way to his office. “Steven, my name is Father Andrew. I’m here to help you.” Steve didn’t like his smile. “We’re going to meet everyday at 8:30 pm for your therapy.”

He pulled out a folder from the bottom drawer of his desk. He placed a photograph in front of Steve with a flourish.

It was porn.

It was fucking gay porn.

He stood in front of Steve, leaning against the desk, off to the side of the image.

“Tell me what you see here.” One of the men had dark hair. He was being taken from behind by the other man, his blond hair and bright eyes stirred something in Steve.

“Two men. Having sex.”

He didn’t see Father Andrew’s hand, just heard the crack of it against his cheek.

His eyes watered, his cheek burned.

“What do you see?”

“Two perverts.”

“What are they doing?”

“Defiling one another.”

“Good, Steven. You’re learning.”

He placed another photograph down. This time, the man being fucked had a full face of makeup, tears making the dark eyeliner run as he was on his back, hands cuffed to the bed. The man fucking him was smirking at the camera, tongue between his teeth.

“How does this make you feel?”

“Disgusted.”

“Why?”

“That they, they would touch each other like that.”

“Do you have fantasies like this? Of being tied up by another man? Raped by another man?”

And the answer, the answer was technically yes. He had plenty of fantasies of being tied up, taken rough, taken dirty.

But rape. That’s a strong fucking word.

“No, Father.” Another crack. Another slap.

“Lying is a sin, Steven.”

“I, I don’t want to be, to be raped.” Another slap.

“Lying is a sin, Steven.”

“Yes, yes Father. I have had fantasies.”

“These are not fantasies, these are perversions planted in your mind by demons, by the devil trying to pull you away from Christ our Lord. Do not let these demons lead you astray.”

He pulled out another picture.

Steve’s heart fucking stopped.

It was a picture of himself. A nude he had taken for Tommy.

He was wearing pretty lingerie, pouting to the camera. He remembers taking it, remembers putting on his makeup, posing over and over until he took one he liked. They must’ve gone through his phone, through his texts.

“Why do you dress like a woman?”

“Be-because I’m disgusting.” And the thing is, Steve had been told plenty of times that day that he’s disgusting, and he had begun to believe it.

“Good, Steven. You are disgusting. Do you believe you’re a woman?”

“No, Father.”

“Then why have you been experimenting with women’s things?”

“I believed I wasn’t a man.”

“And are you a man?”

“Yes, Father.”

“God made you a man.”

“Yes, Father.” Steve still didn’t like his smile.

He switched the image.

And it was another one of his nudes. This time he was in a skirt, kneeling with his back to the mirror, one hand spreading his cheeks, showing off the silver plug in his ass.

He even remembers the text he had sent with it.

Tommy had been studying for a test, so Steve sent that picture and said but im lonely :( and Tommy had replied I’ll be there in twenty.

“Why do you have an obsession with your anus?” Steve could feel the blood drain from his face.

“I, uh, it feels good.” Another slap.

“How does spitting in the face of your Heavenly Father feel good, Steven? Sodomy does not feel good.” Another slap. Steve’s face felt like it was on fire.

“I’m sorry, Father. I am vile, and disgusting.” Steve was sobbing, felt so fucking pathetic, trying to look anywhere but the printed image of himself.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. I expect you here tomorrow after dinner.”

Steve fucking ran back to his room.

The other boys were asleep. He climbed into the top bunk, curling into himself.

He felt disgusting, he felt foul and wrong and bad.

He tried to stifle his sobs into his pillow, the scratchy case muffling his panic attack.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quiet.” There was a sigh, breath fanning over his face.

And then the boy from earlier was swinging himself into bed with him, curling against him.

“They said-”

“I know exactly what times they patrol. I’ll leave your bed before then.” He sighed. “First night’s always the hardest. You just gotta get through. Tell them what they wanna hear, but remember that they’re fucking wrong. You are valid, and real. Being gay is not disgusting.”

Steve curled into him, letting himself be comforted.

“Thank you. Thank you, William.”

“Oh, Christ. Call me Billy.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

As time passed, it was easy to retreat into himself.

He met with Father Andrew every night, got slapped and hit when his answers weren’t condemning enough.

But each night, Billy would crawl into bed with him, would hold him when he broke down.

The kiss was inevitable.

It happened after Steve had an extreme day, the beating he received when he had admitted to being nonbinary, that he had asked his friends at home to use other pronouns.

And Billy had said you’re perfect the way you are, Sweet Thing.

And Steve kissed him.

And Steve wanted to die.

“Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.” Steve took a shaking breath.

He was kneeling in the small confessional.

They had Mass every three days, and confession each Friday.

“It has been one week since my last confession.” He took a deep breath. He needed to get this of his chest, needed to get the punishment he deserved. “Father, I, the feelings have not gone away. There is, there’s a boy, and I, I love him. And I try not to. I try not to look at him, to remember the devil is leading me astray. But Father, I think about him. I think about him often.”

“This is an extremely grievous sin, my son.”

“I know, Father. Please help me. I want to, I want to be pure. To be free of this sin, this temptation.”

“I offer, as penance for your sins, to pray a rosary for each time you have had an evil thought about your fellow man this week. As you ponder the Mysteries of the rosary, consider how God created you, how Jesus died for you, and you wipe your feet on their love.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And our meeting will be arduous tonight, Steven.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now please, recite the Act of Contrition.”

Steve’s hands shook as he recited the prayer, finishing his confession with Father Andrew.

“Now, Steven. You discussed having impure thoughts today.”

Steve’s knees ached from praying the rosary so many times earlier today. He hadn’t eaten, had gone straight to the Chapel after his confession.

He wanted to pray, to cleanse himself.

And he didn’t want to risk seeing Billy.

“Yes, Father.”

“And you mentioned that you love another boy.”

“The devil is trying to make me think it’s love.” Father Andrew smiled his empty smile down at Steve.

“That’s right Steven. Because love cannot exist between two men. Love is a beautiful thing created and given to us by The Lord God.” Father Andrew leaned over Steve, made him shrink back in his seat. “Which is why you are unlovable as you are. You are foul and vile. You may be loved if you change.”

He grabbed Steve’s hair, holding his head still as he slapped his face.

And Steve let him.

He was foul, he was vile.

He deserved the pain.

Two months.

That’s how long it took Steve to “graduate”.

He left the facility in clean khakis, a nice sweater his mother had sent him to wear home.

Billy had left a week and a half prior.

He was deemed a lost cause.

Steve’s mother was there to pick him up, hugged him tight and told him how happy she was that he was fixed.

He was quiet as they drove, watching the shadows the summer sun cast on the side of the plain flat road.

“Your father will be pleased. You’ve made such wonderful progress. Free of all those delusions.”

They passed Tommy’s house.

He felt sick.

The first thing Steve did when he got home was destroy all his make up.

He took everything feminine from it’s hiding spot in the back of his closet.

He scraped out the eye shadow, smeared the lipstick all over his dresses.

He cut up his lingerie, shoved everything into a black garbage back, driving into town to toss it in the dumpster behind the gas station.

He wanted it away, he wanted it gone. He wanted to be pure.

His hands shook as he zipped up the suitcase.

He didn’t have much in there, was planning on taking enough to get him through a little while, then maybe buying some things, some pretty things.

His parents were asleep downstairs, he was planning on being long gone by the time they woke up.

He put on his backpack, taking his wallet and tiptoeing down the stairs, his shoes in his hand.

He had a plan, would drive to the bus station, leave his car there.

Someone will find it, and at that point, he’ll be long gone.

He bought a bus ticket to Chicago, paid in cash and gave a fake name.

He was fucking out of here.

They were fucking out of here.

“As I live, and fucking breathe.”

Steve startled as a hand came down on their shoulder.

They startled again when they turned around, came face to face with a ghost from the past.

“B-Billy?” Billy’s hair was longer than it had been at the camp. His smile was lazier, his eyes brighter. Steve’s gut gave an excited little flutter as he looked them up and down.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Pretty Boy.” Steve flushed, adjusting their dress. It was new.

It had been three years since the camp. One year of Steve living in pain, until they packed their shit, and moved to the Golden Coast. They left in the middle of the fucking night, ran away like a scared child, never looking back.

And here was the love of their goddamn life, in some hole in the wall coffee shop in San Fransisco.

“It’s uh, it’s not Pretty Boy, anymore.” Billy’s grin got even wider.

“Thank fuck.” He swung himself into the seat across from Steve’s, upsetting some of the papers they were working on.

“What happened to you, Billy?” Billy’s smiled slipped, just a little.

“My dad was tired a’ paying for that joint if I wasn’t getting better. So he said if I wasn’t fixed in like, a month, he would stop paying, and I would be kicked out. Stayed true to his word. Haven’t seen the bastard since.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Getting kicked outta that place is the best fuckin’ thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I graduated. Went through the whole thing. Took me a year to realize how fucked up it was.”

“Jesus. They got you deep.” Steve shrugged.

“I’m okay now.”

“Yeah? What’re you doin’?”

“Goin’ to school. Gonna be a counselor. Hopefully work in an elementary school, or something.” Billy’s eyes were bright.

“That’s amazing. Gonna tell all the little queer kids that they’re valid and all that?”

“That’s the goal.” Billy grinned. “What are you doing now? You with anyone?”

“I own a bar, actually. Kind of a dive, but it’s a good time.” He looked at Steve through his lashes. “You should come by, sometime. Be good to see you.”

“I’d like to see you too.”

“And to answer your question, I’m not with anyone. Not right now.” He smirked. “But I could be.” He leaned over the table, drawing one finger down Steve’s hand. “I like seeing you happy. Feel like I only ever saw you cryin’ in that joint.”

“Well, spent a lot of time crying there.”

“For good reason.” Billy took their hand. “It’s really good to see you.”

“Y’know I told Father Andrew I was in love with you. Got beat black and fuckin’ blue for it.” Billy’s face was grave.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Wanted to be fixed. Took me a year to realize I didn’t need that.”

“You stop lovin’ me in that year?”

“Not even in the two after that.” Billy took a shaking breath.

“You know, I uh, I love you too. Always did. It broke my fucking heart to leave you in that place. Was gonna wake you up that night, get you to run away with me. But they took me out, uh, forcibly.”

“Bet you put up a real good fight.”

“Broke Father Ryan’s nose.” Steve let out a burst of laughter, clapping one hand over their mouth.

“I was wondering about that. He had a splint for like, a month.”

“Yeah, well, bastard kept tryin’ to exorcise me. Headbutted him right in the face.”

“Good for you, Bill. Sometimes I wish I could light the whole place on fire.”

“Me too.” Billy took their hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I gotta head, but I wanna see you. Soon. Later today, if you can.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m just doing some homework, but I could stop by the bar tonight? I don’t have shit to do tomorrow.”

“Lemme pick you up. We can go to dinner before I take you to the bar.” They smiled softly at him.

“I’d like that.”

#oof #this was a lot to write #i got halfway through and realized how much damn Truama the Church has given me #big yikes #I've been really fucking scarred by TWO religions #how fun #yikes writes #tw homophobia #tw religion #tw conversion #tw gay conversion #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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d3nt4l-d4m4g3 · 3 years

Text

Consider: The effeminists

Effeminist—(historical) A member of a male homosexual movement opposing prejudices against effeminate behaviour. —Wikipedia

The next quote is from Jeanne Cordova’s When We Were Outlaws. She was a major figure in the lesbian feminist movement and created the most prominent lesbian newspaper of the time, The Lesbian Tide. This part of her autobiography is set when the lesbians employeed at the gay center (who created some of the first health care programs for women alcoholics, btw) are shoved out of power. Most of the gay male employees at the GCSC were fine with what was clearly manipulative and misogynistic bullshit that would disempower an entire neighborhood of poor, lower-class women. However, one group of men stood by the lesbians:

“In recent weeks a handful of the gay male employees [at the Gay Community Services Center] had begun to support us, calling themselves “effeminists,” a term used by radical left wing of the gay movement. Effeminists glorified in the name “gay faeries” and understood that the straight world mocked them because they as (f-slur) identified with women. They championed feminist principles like lesbian equality in the gay movement. They were usually feminine, rather than butch gay men, and they became our natural allies.” (Cordova 97-98)

The Effeminists’ 1973 Manifesto is below, transcribed from this archive:

The Effeminist Manifesto (1973) Steven Dansky, John Knoebel, Kenneth Pitchford

We, the undersigned Effeminists of Double-F hereby invite all like-minded men to join with us in making our declaration of independence from Gay Liberation and all other Male-Ideologies by unalterably asserting our stand of revolutionary commitment to the following Thirteen Principles that form the quintessential substance of our politics:

On the oppression of women. 1. SEXISM. All women are oppressed by all men, including ourselves. This systematic oppression is called sexism. 2. MALE SUPREMACY. Sexism itself is the product of male supremacy, which produces all other forms of oppression that patriarchal societies exhibit: racism, classism, ageism, economic exploitation, ecological imbalance. 3. GYNARCHISM. Only that revolution which strikes at the root of all oppression can end any and all of its forms. That is why we are gynarchists; that is, we are among those who believe that women will seize power from the patriarchy and, thereby, totally change life on this planet as we know it. 4. WOMEN’S LEADERSHIP. Exactly how women will go about seizing power is no business of ours, being men. But as effeminate men oppressed by masculinist standards, we ourselves have a stake in the destruction of the patriarchy, and thus we must struggle with the dilemma of being partisans – as effeminists – of a revolution opposed to us – as men. To conceal our partisanship and remain inactive for fear of women’s leadership or to tamper with questions which women will decide would be no less despicable. Therefore, we have a duty to take sides, to struggle to change ourselves, to act.

On the oppression of effeminate men. 5. MASCULINISM. Faggots and all effeminate men are oppressed by the patriarchy’s systematic enforcement of masculinist standards, whether these standards are expressed as physical, mental, emotional, or sexual stereotypes of what is desirable in a man. 6. EFFEMINISM. Our purpose is to urge all such men as ourselves (whether celibate, homosexual, or heterosexual) to become traitors to the class of men by uniting in a movement of Revolutionary Effeminism so that collectively we can struggle to change ourselves from non-masculinists into anti-masculinists and begin attacking those aspects of the patriarchal system that most directly oppress us. 7. PREVIOUS MALE-IDEOLOGIES. Three previous attempts by men to create a politics of fighting oppression have failed because of their incomplete analysis: the Male Left, Male Liberation, and Gay Liberation. These and other formations, such as sexual libertarianism and the counter-culture, are all tactics for preserving power in men’s hands by pretending to struggle for change. We specifically reject a hands by pretending to struggle for change. We specifically reject a carry-over from one or more of these earlier ideologies – the damaging combination of ultra-egalitarianism, anti-leadership, anti-technology, and downward mobility. All are based on a politics of guilt and a hypocritical attitude towards power which prevents us from developing skills urgently needed in our struggle and which confuses the competence needed for revolutionary work with the careerism of those who seek personal accommodation within the patriarchal system. 8. COLLABORATORS AND CAMP FOLLOWERS. Even we effeminate men are given an option by the patriarchy: to become collaborators in the task of keeping women in their place. Faggots, especially, are offered a subculture by the patriarchy which is designed to keep us oppressed and also increase the oppression of women. This subculture includes a combination of anti-women mimicry and self-mockery known as camp which, to its trivializing effect, would deny us any chance of awakening to our own suffering, the expression of which can be recognized as revolutionary sanity by the oppressed. 9.SADO-MASCULINITY: ROLE PLAYING AND OBJECTIFICATION. The Male Principle, as exhibited in the last ten thousand years, is chiefly characterized by an appetite for objectification, role-playing, and sadism. First, the masculine preference for thinking as opposed to feeling encourages men to regard other people as things, and to use them accordingly. Second, inflicting pain upon people and animals has come to be deemed a mark of manhood, thereby explaining the well-known proclivity for rape and torture. Finally, a lust for power-dominance is rewarded in the playing out of that ultimate role, The Man, whose rapacity is amply displayed in witch-hunts, lynchings, pogroms, and episodes of genocide, not to mention the day-to-day (often life-long) subservience that he exacts from those closest to him. Masculine bias, thus, appears in our behavior whenever we act out the following categories, regardless of which element in each pair we are most drawn to at any moment: subject/object; dominant/submissive; master/slave; butch/femme. All of these false dichotomies are inherently sexist, since they express the desire to be masculine or to possess the masculine in someone else. The racism of white faggots often reveals the same set of polarities, regardless of whether they choose to act out the dominant or submissive role with black or third-world men. In all cases, only by rejecting the very terms of these categories can we become effeminists. This means explicitly rejecting, as well, the objectification of people based on such things as age; body; build; color; size or shape of facial features, eyes, hair, genitals; ethnicity or race; physical and mental handicap; life-style; sex. We must therefore strive to detect and expose every embodiment of The Male Principle, no matter how and where it may be enshrined and glorified, including those arenas of faggot objectification (baths, bars, docks, parks) where power-dominance, as it operates in the selecting of roles and objects, is known as “cruising.” 10. MASOCH-EONISM. Among those aspects of our oppression which The Man has foisted upon us, two male heterosexual perversions, in particular, are popularly thought of as being “acceptable” behavior for effeminate men: eonism (that is, male transvestitism) and masochism. Just as sadism and masculinism, by merging into one identity, tend to become indistinguishable one from the other, so masochism and eonism are born of an identical impulse to mock subservience in men, as a way to project intense anti-women feelings and also to pressure women into conformity by providing those degrading stereotypes most appealing to the sado-masculinist. Certainly, sado-masoch-eonism is in all its forms the very anti-thesis of effeminism. Both the masochist and the eonist are particularly an insult to women since they overtly parody female oppression and pose as object lessons in servility. 11. LIFE-STYLE: APPEARANCE AND REALITY. We must learn to discover and value The Female Principle in men as something inherent, beyond roles or superficial decoration, and thus beyond definition by any one particular life-style (such as the recent androgeny fad, transsexuality, or other purely personal solutions). Therefore, we do not automatically support or condemn faggots or effeminists who live alone, who live together in couples, who live together in all-male collectives, who live with women, or who live in any other way – since all these modes of living in and of themselves can be sexist but also can conceivably come to function as bases for anti-sexist struggle. Even as we learn to affirm in ourselves the cooperative impulse and to admire in each other what is tender and gentle, what is aesthetic, considerate, affectionate, lyrical, sweet, we should not confuse our own time with that post-revolutionary world when our effeminist natures will be free to express themselves openly without fear or punishment or danger of oppressing others. Above all, we must remember that it is not merely a change of appearance that we seek, but a change in reality. 12. TACTICS. We mean to support, defend and promote effeminism in all men everywhere by any means except those inherently male supremacist or those in conflict with the goals of feminists intent on seizing power. We hope to find militant ways for fighting our oppression that will meet these requirements. Obviously, we do not seek the legalization of faggotry, quotas, or civil-rights for faggots or other measures designed to reform the patriarchy. Practically, we see three phases of activity: naming our enemies to start with, next confronting them, and ultimately divesting them of their power. This means both the Cock Rocker and the Drag Rocker among counter-cultist heroes, both the Radical Therapist and the Faggot-Torturer among effemiphobic psychiatrists, both the creators of beefcake pornography and of eonistic travesties. It also means all branches of the patriarchy that institutionalize the persecution of faggots (schools, church, army, prison, asylum, old-age home). But whatever the immediate target, we would be wise to prepare for all forms of sabotage and rebellion which women might ask of us, since it is not as pacifists that we can expect to serve in the emerging world-wide anti-gender revolution. We must also constantly ask ourselves and each other for a greater measure of risk and commitment than we may have dreamt was possible yesterday. Above all, our joining in this struggle must discover in us a new respect for women, a new ability to love each other as effeminists, both of which have previously been denied us by our misogyny and effemiphobia, so that our bonding until now has been the traditional male solidarity that is always inimical to the interests of women and pernicious of our own sense of effeminist self-hood. 13. DRUDGERY AND CHILDCARE: RE-DEFINING GENDER. Our first and most important step, however, must be to take upon ourselves at least our own share of the day-to-day life-sustaining drudgery that is usually consigned to women alone. To be useful in this way can release women to do other work of their choosing and can also begin to re-define gender for the next generation. Of paramount concern here, we ask to be included in the time-consuming work of raising and caring for children, as a duty, right and privilege.

Attested to this twenty-seventh day of Teves and first day of January, in the year of our falthering Judeo-Christian Patriarchy, 5733 and 1973, by Steven Dansky, John Knoebel, and Kenneth Pitchford.

#feminism #feminist history #effeminism #lesbian #gay #stonewall #not all men #lgbt #lgb

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46ten · 4 years

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AH: marriage and military service should not mix

The summary of this post: A lot of historians have noted how important AH’s marriage to EH was to his future, a true before and after marker in his life. But the strangeness of it has gotten less attention - AH married while the war was going on, and even wrote of not hanging around the army at all in order to setup for his life with his new wife. Once one sees the oddity of that, a lot of other things fall into place in his 1780/81 letters.

For the past few years, I’ve wanted to work more on the theory that although marriage was generally expected of the 18th century Anglo-American colonial man (see prior posts here and here), the elite in AH’s circle did not marry until their military obligations and other duties were complete. From their examples and a few phrases here and there, getting married seemed to have been frowned upon, perhaps because of the uncomfortable examples of general’s wives and this idea that romantic love with a woman was a weakness that interfered with duty and hindered one’s commitment to military glory. (I am familiar with the challenges faced by Martha Washington, Catharine Greene, and Lucy Knox; Philip Schuyler refused a return to military assignment and presidency of the Continental Congress after the death of a newborn, among other things, in 1778). AH is an exception among his circle, with Meade, in getting married during the war itself - nearly everyone else who is unmarried waits until after their military service is complete (and sometimes well after) to marry. Not enough is made of the oddity of his courtship and marriage, within his circle, while the war is ongoing.

Now to modern thought, the title of this post makes a lot of sense - relationships are often strained when one partner is in military service, and the hows and whys are very familiar to us. But for the 18th century, when adult manhood was tied to matrimony, avoiding matrimony seems odd, as does the length of some of the courtships of AH’s friends: two years for William Jackson, about the same for Tilghman, four years of flirtation for McHenry. At a time when engagements lasted a matter of weeks (and AH notes that his own is unusually long - it’s lasting “an age” in one of his letters to ES), the delay in taking the next step is notable. Even in the prior generation, although Philip Schuyler was sexually intimate with Catharine Van Rensselaer, he continued his military service and did not marry her until it became unavoidable by decency standards (CVR was 4 months pregnant).

So what’s with AH and ES wanting to get married in such a hurry, comparatively, besides the obvious emotional ones? Maybe he really was 26-27 years old and time was running out! Another obvious possibility, noted then and noted by biographers since, was the benefits of their marriage on a personal and political dynastic level. @aswithasunbeam has noted a contemporary article (sourced from Mitchell) about what Philip Schuyler had to gain through the new attachment between himself and Washington’s aide-de-camp. (And look how quickly P. Schuyler had AH working to get GW to visit them.) The advantages for AH were obvious to, as the Marquis de Fleury stated outright to AH: “ I congratulate you heartyly on that conquest; for many Reasons: the first that you will get all that familly’s interest, & that a man of your abilities wants a Little influence to do good to his country. The second that you, will be in a very easy situation, & happin’s is not to be found without a Large estate.”

I also suspect part of AH’s decision to hurriedly marry was tied to getting a command and spending the rest of his time studying the law.* I agree with most biographers that he never takes the steps of leaving Washington’s family and asking for (Nov 1780) and then demanding (June 1781) a command without being Philip Schuyler’s son-in-law. (I also think the break with GW doesn’t happen without AH feeling VERY confident in his relationship with his new wife. EH should have been a better patriot - as in other times - and seemed less happy in her marriage, or at least not let AH read her letter to her sister.) I think that’s what Laurens knew while on parole in Phil. and causes the minor flurry of letters in late August/September 1780, when P. Schuyler was briefly at HQ and then sending lots of letters about Congress to GW, AH was going on about his planned six month leave, McHenry was writing a love poem about AH and ES and trying to get AH to get P. Schuyler’s help in getting him a command, etc . AH and ES likely intended to marry in October/early November, but both Meade and Harrison took leave instead, and AH had to stay, though he would leave in late November before their return (in fact, Harrison and Meade never returned.)

Take Laurens (left wife and daughter he’d never see in England) and Lafayette (absent from France from March 1777 to Feb 1779 and March 1780 to early 1782). Both of them left wife and child(ren) behind, and here AH was planning a long absence from military service and telling his fiancee that he’ll leave it entirely if that’s her wish. AND Meade is discussing doing exactly that! [So Laurens presumably wrote to AH - we don’t have that letter - that he hopes AH will get over this quickly, and AH wrote back that he won’t, but I’m getting ahead of myself.]

I offered to make a comparison of AH’s letters to Laurens vs Elizabeth Schuyler - while revealing of personal feelings, in content and expression they are more different than they are similar - but I think I first need to set up that major transition that’s occurring in AH’s life in 1780/81. To the extent Laurens may have objected to AH’s excitement about ES and their impending nuptials (and there’s only one phrase in one letter, and that from AH to Laurens, from which it can be interpreted that those were Laurens’ feelings), and AH felt embarrassed about conveying the news of his engagement, it was because it interfered with a (believed to be mutual) sense of military obligation and public duty and dismissal of marriage and its attendant obligations. I touch on it in a response here; I’ll try to elaborate on it in upcoming posts. [I will get into why this makes the most sense, and why claims of AH trying to spare any romantic feelings JL may have felt, quite frankly, do not make sense in a later post. Spoiler: AH wrote absurdly callous stuff re ES and his relationship with her in his letters to JL if he was hoping to spare JL’s feelings.]

I already put some of my thoughts on this in old posts that may have some helpful content and may spare me having to repeat myself too much, and then I’ll also provide some quotes from letters to get started, limited to 1777-1782 and then probably the most famous quote from 1799.

Hamilton on marriage part 1 (overview)

Hamilton on marriage part 2 (feelings on marriage 1777-early 1780)

Hamilton-Schuyler engagement (early 1780-mid 1780)

Hamilton on marriage part 3 (my breakdown of the July-Oct 1780 letters to ES)

Hamilton on marriage part 4

Reynolds Pamphlet, part 2

And a post (not my own) about how much AH’s military involvement as Inspector General was affecting his family financially.

Letter quotes [my emphases]:

You and I, as well as our neighbours, are deeply interested to pray for victory, and its necessary attendant peace; as, among other good effects, they would remove those obstacles, which now lie in the way of that most delectable thing, called matrimony;—a state, which, with a kind of magnetic force, attracts every breast to it, in which sensibility has a place, in spite of the resistance it encounters in the dull admonitions of prudence, which is so prudish and perverse a dame, as to be at perpetual variance with it. AH to Catharine “Kitty” Livingston 11Apr1777

Do I want a wife? No—I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employ a proxy. AH to John Laurens 1779 [likely from mid-April up to July - this letter is actually undated, and the April date is based on other mentions in the letter; both JCH and Lodge dated it December 1779]

The most determined adversaries of Hymen can find in [ES] no pretext for their hostility, and there are several of my friends, philosophers who railed at love as a weakness, men of the world who laughed at it as a phantasie, whom she has presumptuously and daringly compelled to acknowlege its power and surrender at discretion. I can the better assert the truth of this, as I am myself of the number. She has had the address to overset all the wise resolutions I had been framing for more than four years past, and from a rational sort of being and a professed contemner of Cupid has in a trice metamorphosed me into the veriest inamorato you perhaps ever saw. AH to Margarita Schuyler, Feb1780

I would add to this by way of consolation, or rather of countinance, that the family since your departure have given hourly proofs of a growing weakness. Example I verily believe is infectious. For such a predominancy is beauty establishing over their hearts, that should things continue to wear as sweet an aspect as they are now beheld in, I shall be the only person left, of the whole household, to support the dignity of human nature. But in good earnest, God bless both you, and your weakness, and preserve me your sincere friend James McHenry to AH, 18March1780 [this was during the time of AH’s courtship of ES]

Here we are my love in a house of great hospitality—in a country of plenty—a buxom girl under the same roof—pleasing ⟨expect⟩ations of a successful campaign—and every thing to make a soldier happy, who is not in love and absent from his mistress. ... Assure yourself my love that you are seldom a moment absent from my mind, that I think of you constantly and talk of you frequently, I am never happier than when I can engage Meade in some solitary walk to join me in reciprocating the praises of his widow and my betsey. AH to ES, 6July1780

I hope for a decisive campaign. No one will desire it more than me; for a military life is now grown insupportable to me because it keeps me from all my soul holds dear. Adieu My love. Write to me often I entreat you, and do not suffer any part of my treasure, your sweet love, to be lost or stolen from me. AH to ES, 20Jul1780

Impatiently My Dearest have I been expecting the return of your father to bring me a letter from my charmer with the answers you have been good enough to promise me to the little questions asked in mine by him. ... Meade2 just comes in and interrupts me by sending his love to you. He tells you he has written a long letter to his widow asking her opinion of the propriety of quitting the service; and that if she does not disapprove it, he will certainly take his final leave after the campaign. You see what a fine opportunity she has to be enrolled in the catalogue of heroines, and I dare say she will set you an example of fortitude and patriotism. I know too you have so much of the Portia in you, that you will not be out done in this line by any of your sex, and that if you saw me inclined to quit the service of your country, you would dissuade me from it. I have promised you, you recollect, to conform to your wishes, and I persist in this intention. It remains with you to show whether you are a Roman or an American wife. AH to ES, Aug1780

But now my love to speak of the practicability of complying with both our wishes in this article—There is none, I am obliged to sacrifice my inclination to ⟨my public⟩ ch⟨aracter.⟩ Even though my presence shou⟨ld n⟩ot be essential here, yet my love I could not with decency or honor leave the army during the campaign. This is a military prejudice which while I am in a military station I must comply with. No person has been more severe than I have been in condemning other officers for deviating from it. I have admitted no excuse as sufficient, and I must not now evince to the army, that the moment my circumstances have changed, my maxims have changed also. This would be an inconsistency, and my Betsey would not have me guilty of an inconsistency. Besides this my Betsey, The General is peculiarly averse to the practice in question. If this campaign is to end my military services, ’tis an additional reason for a constant and punctual attendance, if it is not my leaving the army during the campaign would make it less proper to be away all the winter ’till late in the spring. In one case, my honor bids me stay, in the other my love. AH to ES, 31Aug1780

Pardon me my love for talking politics to you. What have we to do with any thing but love? Go the world as it will, in each others arms we cannot but be happy. ...I was once determined to let my existence and American liberty end together. My Betsey has given me a motive to outlive my pride, I had almost said my honor; but America must not be witness to my disgrace. AH to ES, 6Sept1780

I have told you, and I told you truly that I love you too much. You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. ‘Tis a pretty story indeed that I am to be thus monopolized, by a little nut-brown maid like you—and from a statesman and a soldier metamorphosed into a puny lover. I believe in my soul you are an inchantress; but I have tried in vain, if not to break, at least, to weaken the charm—you maintain your empire in spite of all my efforts—and after every new one, I make to withdraw myself from my allegiance my partial heart still returns and clings to you with increased attachment. To drop figure my lovely girl you become dearer to me every moment. I am more and more unhappy and impatient under the hard necessity that keeps me from you, and yet the prospect lengthens as I advance. AH to ES, 5Oct1780

I would not have you imagine Miss that I write to you so often either to gratify your wishes or to please your vanity; but merely to indulge myself and to comply with that restless propensity of my mind, which will not allow me to be happy when I am not doing something in which you are concerned. This may seem a very idle disposition in a philosopher and a soldier; but I can plead illustrious examples in my justification. Achilles had liked to have sacrificed Greece and his glory to his passion for a female captive; and Anthony lost the world for a woman. I am sorry the times are so changed as to oblige me to summon antiquity for my apology, but I confess, to the disgrace of the present age, that I have not been able to find many who are as far gone as myself in such laudable zeal for the fair sex. AH to ES, 13Oct1780

How often have I with Eloisa exclaimed against those forms which I now revere as calculated to knit our union together by new and stronger bands...Meade already begins to recant. I have received a letter from him on the Journey2 in which he tells me he finds he must return to the army. This will be a new proof to you that I cannot leave it, as we both so ardently desire. AH to ES, 27Oct1780

You possess a heart that can feel for me; you have a female too that you love. I was reduced at one period to entreat, threat, kiss, but all to no purpose; her fears were for my safety, mine for hers. You must imagine to make out the tragedy all that I am incapable for want of words to express. After placing her with at least Twenty other females & children at a safe distance I immediately returned, & joined the Baron about the time the Enemy left Richmond in order to render him all the aid I could being intimately acquainted with the Country for many miles in the vicinity of the Enemy & on their return down the river I left him to go in pursuit of a residence for a favorite Brother who was driven from his home & obliged to attend to his Wife & a family of little children. Was it not cruel my dear fellow that my matrimonial enjoyments should have been interrupted thus soon; not more than one month had passed when the damned invasion seperated us, & we have yet to meet again, for 60 miles divides us. You know I am a Philosoper my dr fd & prepared to meet much more serious disappointments. This gives me an opening to speak of my return to the army. I have been long wishing your advice in full on the occasion; you are acquainted with the arguments I have used in favor of my stay here. I have now but one to add to them, the experience of that happiness I ever expected to enjoy with the best of Women. She loves not less than your Betsy, & I fear could not bear a seperation. I have not however as yet thrown off the uniform, but I am inclined to believe that it must be the case. Meade to AH, 13Jan1781

I was cherishing the melancholy pleasure of thinking of the sweets I had left behind and was so long to be deprived of, when a servant from Head Quarters presented me with your letters. I feasted for some time on the sweet effusions of tenderness they contained, and my heart returned every sensation of yours. Alas my Betsey you have divested it of every other pretender and placed your image there as the sole proprietor. I struggle with an excess which I cannot but deem a weakness and endeavour to bring myself back to reason and duty. I remonstrate with my heart on the impropriety of suffering itself to be engrossed by an individual of the human race when so many millions ought to participate in its affections and in its cares. But it constantly presents you under such amiable forms as seem too well to justify its meditated desertion of the cause of country humanity, and of glory I would say, if there were not something in the sound insipid and ridiculous when compared with the sacrifices by which it is to be attained.

Indeed Betsey, I am intirely changed—changed for the worse I confess—lost to all the public and splendid passions and absorbed in you. Amiable woman! nature has given you a right to be esteemed to be cherished, to be beloved; but she has given you no right to monopolize a man, whom, to you I may say, she has endowed with qualities to be extensively useful to society. Yes my Betsey, I will encourage my reason to dispute your empire and restrain it within proper bounds, to restore me to myself and to the community. Assist me in this; reproach me for an unmanly surrender of that to love and teach me that your esteem will be the price of my acting well my part as a member of society. AH to EH, 13Jul1781

Don’t think me unkind for not talking of your making a journey to the Southward. It would put us to a thousand inconveniences and would in fact be of no avail; for while there I must be engrossed in my military duties. Heaven knows how much it costs me to make the sacrifice I do. It is too much to be torn away from the wife of my bosom from a woman I love to weakness, and who feels the same ardent passion for me. I relinquish a heaven in your arms; but let me have the happiness to reflect that they ever impatiently wait my return sacred to love and me. Give your Mama, your sisters and the whole family every assurance of the warmest affection on my part. Indeed I love them all.

Yrs. with unalterable tenderness and fidelity AH to EH, 25Aug1781

Early in November, as I promised you, we shall certainly meet. Cheer yourself with this idea, and with the assurance of never more being separated. Every day confirms me in the intention of renouncing public life, and devoting myself wholly to you. AH to EH, 6Sept1781

My heart disposed to gayety is at once melted into tenderness. The idea of a smiling infant in my Betseys arms calls up all the father in it. In imagination I embrace the mother and embrace the child a thousand times. I can scarce refrain from shedding tears of joy. But I must not indulge these sensations; they are unfit for the boisterous scenes of war and whenever they intrude themselves make me but half a soldier. AH to EH, 12Oct1781

You cannot imagine how entirely domestic I am growing. I lose all taste for the pursuits of ambition, I sigh for nothing but the company of my wife and my baby. The ties of duty alone or imagined duty keep me from renouncing public life altogether. It is however probable I may not be any longer actively engaged in it.

I have explained to you the difficulties which I met with in obtaining a command last campaign. I thought it incompatible with the delicacy due to myself to make any application this campaign. I have expressed this Sentiment in a letter to the General and retaining my rank only, have relinquished the emoluments of my commission, declaring myself notwithstanding ready at all times to obey the calls of the Public.4 I do not expect to hear any of these unless the State of our Affairs, should change for the worse and lest by any unforeseen accident that should happen, I choose to keep myself in a situation again to contribute my aid. This prevents a total resignation.

You were right in supposing I neglected to prepare what I promised you at Philadelphia. The truth is, I was in such a hurry to get home that I could think of nothing else. AH to Meade, March 1782 (from a JCH transcription)

You were right, My dear General, in saying that a Soldier should have no Other wife than the service...William North to AH, 12Nov1799

AND just for amusement:

I thank you My Dear Sir for the military figures you have sent me. Tactics you know are literally or figuratively of very comprehensive signification. As people grow old they decline in some arts though they may improve in others. I will try to get Mrs. Hamilton to accompany in games of Tactics new to her. Perhaps she may get a taste for them & become better reconciled to my connection with the Trade-Militant. AH to McHenry, 21June1799

__________________________________________

*I broke this down in a prior post too, but I’ll repeat it here again: I think the clearest statement of his plan left to us is from the draft of the letter he sent to Philip Schuyler explaining why he wants to break with GW (18Feb1781):

As I cannot think of quitting the army during the war, I have a project of re-entering into the artillery, by taking Lieutenant-Colonel Forrest’s10 place, who is⟩ desirous of retiring on half pay. I have not however made up my mind upon this , Start insertion,head, End,, as I should be obliged to come in the youngest Lt Col instead of the eldest, which I , Start deletion,should, End, , Start insertion,ought to, End, have been by natural succession had I remained in the corps; and , Start insertion,at the same time, End, to resume studies relative to the profession which, to avoid inferiority, must be laborious.

If a handsome command for the campaign in the , Start insertion,light, End, infantry should offer itself, I shall ballance between this and the artillery. My situation ⟨in the latter⟩ would be more , Start deletion,substantial, End, , Start insertion,solid, End, ⟨and permanent;⟩ but as I hope ⟨the war will not last long enough to make it progressive, this consideration has the less force. A command for the campaign would leave me the winter to prosecute studies relative to my future career in life. With⟩ respect to the former, I have been materially the worse for going into his family.11

I have written to you on this subject with all the freedom and confidence to which you have a right and with an assurance of the interest you take in , Start deletion,what, End, , Start insertion,all that, End, concerns me.

This letter implies 1) he had a plan post-military; 2) he had discussed with PS what that plan was, and possibly that six month leave (that never happened because of illness and unavailability) was tied to undertaking some of those studies to be a lawyer, to put himself in better shape to support a family. Being able to do so was important to AH - Philip Hamilton was born Jan 1782, and Angelica would not be born until Sept 1784.

#Alexander Hamilton #Elizabeth Schuyler #Elizabeth S. Hamilton #18th century masculinity #Philip Schuyler #John Laurens #I've always found it interesting that he references Achilles to state his willingness to #throw everything away for a woman (Briseis)

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thecrownedbeast · 5 years

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Unholy (Priest!Michael LangdonxReader)

Author’s note: This was a Millory fanfic I wrote a few months back. I edited it to be a Michael LangdonxReader fanfic. I thought you all would enjoy it! More fanfic to come thanks to your requests. 💜

Warnings: public masturbation, blasphemy, domination, bondage, nsfw

You were a faithful churchgoer. From your first breaths to now, your parents had instilled in you a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing you’d done after moving away from home was find a local church; and you found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity. The congregation was warm and welcoming, you felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. You believed they were the perfect shepherds to your soul. All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Your trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons you’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved you. Often when looking upon him at the altar, you would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was artwork, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…You shook your thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued your mind for three months. You would scold yourself, commanding your body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers you wanted to see free and throbbing-Oh God! This was your reason for going to confession today. You’d been neglecting it, but now you knew you couldn’t give allowance to your sins any longer. The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any; white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There was a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door of the confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed you. You entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”

Your blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side, “I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, (Y/N),” the voice chuckled.

Your legs tensed as you instinctively fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, “Father Langdon…”

The lattice of the window separating you still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, (Y/N),” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”

You swallowed, your chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”

His silence made you clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”

He hummed, a vibration that made your breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”

The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Your throat dry like a desert.

“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”

You closed your legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”

“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”

You cleared your throat, the heat beneath your skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” you dug your nails into your thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”

A tense silence hung in the booth before he spoke, “I can sense that in you, (Y/N),” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”

Your voice trembled, barely leaving your mouth, “Of course not.”

His smile was dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”

You closed your eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more…potent ways than ever.”

“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.

You paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”

“Then claim them, (Y/N),” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins…and have taken great pleasure in them.”

Your mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”

“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his tone was…desperate, “Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”

“Where does it run to, (Y/N)?”

“Lusts of the flesh,” you dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”

“Speak them,” he commanded.

You nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”

“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.

Your voice was so tiny, your heart leaped into your throat, “I don’t think-“

“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, (Y/N),” you heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”

Your core throbbed at his words. Your mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.

“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”

Every inch of your flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked your own thoughts from your mind and was reading them aloud.

“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, (Y/N),” it was like his voice was right next to your ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”

Your fingers slipped under your panties as if of their own will. You massaged your pulsing clit, your folds already wet with desire.

He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, biting your lip to detain your ardent whimpers.

“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick…wet…sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”

Hot shame flooded you, but you kept going…faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew you were making such a filthy scene for the priest?And yet that made your desire grow.

“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, (Y/N)?”

An obscene noise almost freed itself from your throat, but you placed a hand over your mouth.

“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”

His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”

Barely trusting your own voice, you whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

You could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”

You felt yourself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”

He changed pace, as if sensing your closeness; gently guiding you towards your orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”

The word was like a signal, releasing your tension as you rode the high. As you came down, your breathing slowed, and your mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.

“Does that sound like your fantasies, (Y/N)?” He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.

“Yes, Father Langdon,” you muttered breathlessly.

“Are you sated?”

You removed your fingers from your panties, quickly searching your bag for a tissue to wipe them on, your face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”

He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”

You froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over you.

“Find a way to…absolve them in a more tangible way.”

You sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”

There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, (Y/N).”

“And with you also,” you returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was your own anxiety, but you were sure a few squinting glares were thrown your way.

You had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from your sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on your tongue, the wine of communion soured in your stomach. Even your outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. you sat at the end of your usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of you. Your eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read your mind; because all you could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged you so completely. The hymns you sang erupted from constricted breath as you imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between your legs and bringing you to ungodly bliss. You felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels. You were thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to your ability to stay calm. When the service ended, you gathered your purse and hurried towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“(Y/N)!” The voice stopped you in your tracks, “Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to you with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting. You didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of your mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering you a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, (Y/N), there’s nothing to forgive.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for you to walk with him a bit further away from the crowd, which you did reluctantly, “Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at you, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head.

“Brilliant writer,” he stopped, your eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, you took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as you thought of anyone else being “helped” by him, “Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over your figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through you; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, you tucked your hair behind your ear, “Then why…?”

“Why you?” He finished for you, gazing at you with an admiring look, “You’re different, (Y/N). There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re…genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

You blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

He took your hand between his, the comforting warmth intoxicating, “Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head,” he looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Your heart jumped, “I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, (Y/N).”

You had a flashing thought of him pinning you against the pew, but threw it away. “And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of your hand, leaving a trace of abandonment, “I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Your mind demanded you say no. What kind of woman were you to be alone with the priest you lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?”

You knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.”

You nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom for an hour; your makeup, your dress, your hair, even practicing how you would say hello. “Good evening, Father,” you smiled at your reflection before shaking your head. Too formal. You gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on your heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” You groaned, cringing. Too peppy. You took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, and shut off the light, heading into your room. You grabbed your purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as you pulled into the driveway. It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the glass giving a peek inside. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky. You locked your car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside. After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming you. “Hello, (Y/N).” He was everything you expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once your eyes drew up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. You were hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in your chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together. You mumbled a hello under your breath. “I’m so glad to see you.” You managed a squeaky, “You too.” He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.” You stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor. “You look beautiful,” he commented looking over your simple dress. You breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look…different.” He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?” You gulped, “I do, it looks…” you held yourself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.” He smirked, as if reading your thoughts, and invited you to the dining room. Dinner went by normally. You talked about life. How you were fairing in college, how your family was doing back home, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when you would ask. He only told you that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable you knew him to be at the Cathedral. Afterward, you’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed you the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?” You stopped, your lips parted over the rim of your glass. He grinned sympathetically, “Come, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.” You swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re…very attractive, charismatic, charming,” you glanced up at him, “you command a room.” He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?” You thought of your youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; you became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys your age just didn’t appeal to you all that much. “Some.” “Do you like being dominated?” He asked it so brazenly, it hit you like a slap to the face. You shrugged, stuttering, “I…I guess I have a proclivity to…follow the rules.” His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.” Heavy heat settled between your legs at his tone; you yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.” His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?” You shook your head, your voice maintaining a tinny as you confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” you looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying me up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.” A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, (Y/N)?” You cleared your throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been…penetrated.” your face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.” He tilted his head, waiting for you to explain. “Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.” That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.” Your pulse pounded in your ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence. He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?” A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced your core, “I’m sorry?” His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?” You released an audible gasp, your body trembling. You swallowed hard, “What you just said.” He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?” You felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away your inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.” “Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.” You watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge, licking your lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?” You nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?” Your voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.” He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.” You set your glass on a counter, dropping to your knees and crawling to him slowly, your eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon you, and you sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against your wet slit through your panties. Your hips rocked slowly, earning you a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing your ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?” He pulled you closer, making you move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on your neck, your skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth. “The things I want to do to you,” he growled. His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of your neck to your ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, (Y/N)? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?” Your hands clutched his shirt, your head thrown back; you intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made you feel. Without warning, his hand was at your throat; gripping just tight enough to cause your eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust. “You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?” His lips hovered just above yours, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.” You moved your hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched you closer, your warm breath passing between your lips, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.” You looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire. “Get on the floor.” You slipped off of him, your bare knees hitting the carpet. “Take out my cock,” he commanded. You undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook you as you wrapped your lips around the head, sucking gently. He gasped, “Eager little slut.” You massaged his balls, taking more of him into your mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through your hair. You gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of your mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as you moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at your eyes as you pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited your mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking. He caressed your cheek as you dragged your tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum. “Come here,” his raspy voice demanded.

You propped yourself on his knees, your eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped your chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

You responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of your head, bringing your foreheads together, your lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of your hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.” His gaze focused on your glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze your bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.” He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.” He delivered a swift, hard slap to your ass, your tiny yelp making his cock jerk. “Follow me.” Father Langdon’s bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his décor; but the two main attractions were the three overlook windows you had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard. You couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places. “Take off your dress,” he ordered. You nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box. He paused, meeting your eyes when you hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?” You stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around your feet. He looked you over. “Oh, (Y/N),” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.” You blushed, your thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned you forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down your bare stomach before slipping just inside your panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.” You bit your lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; your blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside your heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing your clit in slow, wide circles. Your knees nearly buckled beneath you; desperate noises breathily rising from your throat. Your hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Your hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored your dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt. He slid down, wrapping his arms under your thighs; forcing you to hold onto him tightly as he carried you to the windows, pinning you against the middle pane. “I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, (Y/N),” he latched onto your neck, sucking and licking up to your ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.” His fingers slipped your panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung your bare skin, the scandalous nature of your position pouring hot, depraved passion into your veins. His thumb pressed into your clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of you with unrelenting speed. “I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in your ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on your ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside you, “God, you make me so fucking hard.” You clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside your entrance. “You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up your bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate your hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded your nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.” You choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!” It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into yours, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp your chin, “What did you call me?” Terror spread in your chest, “I-I-“ “No,” he pressed down on your bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.” You trembled. “Say it.” “Michael,” you answered weakly. “Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?” He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.” You gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.” “Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of your neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?” There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.” He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.” Your cold terror was melted, warm lust still coating his bulge. “Get on the bed and face the left.” He dropped you to your feet and watched you crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on your knees. He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.” You obeyed silently, and he tied you to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind you that you were at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making you wait, your humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. You felt like you should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased you. But it only made the need in your pussy throb harder. The palm of his hand connected with your skin, the sting making your cry out in surprise as you tried to bite back a delighted smile. “Stick out that perfect ass.” You leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. You could feel the mattress buckle as he climbed up behind you, pulling your thighs closer and spreading your legs, one hand firmly on your ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup your breast. You barely had time to react to his warm palm on your skin before he dragged his tongue up the full length of your opening. You gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of your needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring you viciously, your cries of pleasure riling him up. You heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. You sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down your slit, bathing it in your cum. “You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over yours, his chest against your back; you barely restrained yourself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between your cheeks. “Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to your ear. “Yes, sir,” you breathed. “Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, parting your cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?” Shakily, you answered, “Yes, sir.” His smile brushed against your neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?” Your mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful- “Yes, sir, please do that.” He kissed your shoulder, “Say it, (Y/N), we’re well past guarded language.” You almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.” He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in your words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.” He kissed down your spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over you, taking fingers full of your juices and slathering them into your asshole, gently massaging it open. You braced yourself against the pike, already aching at the touch. You felt his soaked head stretching you out; you groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling you how tight and perfect you were. He built up a slow, steady rhythm, which you took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around your waist, using his other hand to caress your hair, “You’re being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.” He pulled out slowly, your body feeling empty, less grounded to reality when he did. You felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of you, you looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, your lips red and swollen from your biting them so hard. He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, “Come up here.” You furrowed your brows, but lifted yourself up to meet him. He pulled you close, breathing out, “You earned this.” He brought your lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in your kiss, the feel of your mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?” You nodded, “Yes, sir.” “Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.” He untied your hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.” Once you had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and your ankles together flat against the bed so you were in the position of a crucifix. He straddled you, running his hands all over your body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.” He parted your thighs once more, indulging in the way your tied legs kept you tightly around him as he entered you. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into you against the bed, much to your relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of your hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, your skin slick with sweat and arousal. You were whining pathetically, wishing you could dig your nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled your hair back to expose your neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. You cried out his name, like honey on your tongue, your breath catching in your throat, as you drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as your fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under your legs as you fell back, gasping from your pleasure. “Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes. You met his gaze, your eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust; his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into your neck once more. You squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. You moved your hips in tandem, slowly now, your slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into you. He took two fingers and gathered your cum, holding it front of you. “Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over your tongue. “Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking you in a passionate kiss. He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied you. Your arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish your eager affection. You lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into your eyes, kissing your forehead. “I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse au #priest!michael

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melodiouswhite · 5 years

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Forbidden Fruit

A/N: Writing shameless Jekyde smut. This is an Seperated AU, written from Dr. Jekyll's POV. I've never written smut before in my life, please be nice to my comment section. Yes, I know that this smut fic is amateurish, but I've never written stuff like that before, so please forgive me, if this isn't as good as my other writing. There is no plot to this. I'm not sorry.

At first I thought, that something had gone wrong. I wanted to get rid of my evil to be a good man, or at least that's what I tell myself, that's what I want to believe. So I brewed a potion to separate my evil. It didn't quite go as planned. It was separated, but not completely, it's still a part of me, still within me. The potion tore my soul apart, yet it only manifested in changing my shape and character. My evil became a sentient entity with a mind and emotions of its own, taking a shape every time I took the potion. I had a completely dark being within me, while at the same time I was still the same Henry Jekyll, with all my desires, negative character traits and wishes. It was a change for the worse, yet I did gain something. No. I gained someone . 'It' became a 'he'. I couldn't tear my eyes off him, the first time I saw him. I still can't. Whether you like Edward Hyde's appearance or not, it's impossible to look away. People find him ugly for reasons I know, but can't comprehend. Not when I am so attracted to him. No. Attracted is the wrong word. I love him. Need him. Want him. Desire him. I can't say how it happened, but it did and I don't regret it. God, there is no word to describe how much I love and desire him. Now I have finally found a way to separate us completely, but I don't want him to leave. Luckily, neither does he. We can finally be together in the way we wanted and I'm so happy. Oh Lord, if you wanted to punish me for my sins, I couldn't have asked for a sweeter punishment. I love his youth, his thirst for life and its pleasures, his energy, his fire, the way the light of his flames illuminates my soul and makes me feel alive. Nothing seems to be impossible for him and it's invigorating, euphoric. It still boggles my mind, the things he can do to me, when he touches me, kisses me, lies with me, makes me feel these overwhelming sensations. I love his café noir brown hair and the noises he makes, when I run my fingers through it. It's long, wavy and silky. I can't get enough of entangling my fingers into it, when we lie together. I love his ghost white skin, that seems to glow in the moonlight, and how it is hot and cold at the same time, when it's on mine. I love his acid green eyes that actually do glow in the dark and have a wicked gleam to them. I love how tiny he is, it's honestly adorable. His head doesn't even reach up to my shoulder. I love his pale, beautifully swung lips. They can kiss like no other and god, I can never resist the temptation. Sometimes he paints them red and looks more seductive than the most experienced common girl* ever could. He tastes like cherries and pomegranates. It's the sweet taste of sin and I'm addicted. I love his voice. To others it sounds unlikeable, but to me he is a siren. Hyde has an almost feminine, guttural rasp, yet there is something melodic and sensual about it. When he wants something from me, he adopts a sultry purr, that he knows makes my knees go weak and awakens the passion, that I thought I'd lost. I love the small similarities and differences between my alter ego and myself. He is a part of me, yet I always discover something new about him. Those are only a few of Hyde's charms. I could rant about him for days and it wouldn't be enough.

Right now, he is standing behind my chair, his hands wrapped around my shoulders. He snickers into my ear and I know what he wants. I feel my face flush. Gently, he nibbles at my ear lobe and I have to suppress a moan, because he knows all of my sensitive spots and how to touch them to drive me mad.

“Jekyll”, he purrs and I feel his sinful lips move from my ear lobe down to my jaw, right above my stiff collar. The collar often rubs against my skin uncomfortably, irritating it, until I just want to tear it off my neck, throw it on the floor and trample on it. He caresses the sensitive skin and I shudder. “Hyde, please. I'm trying to work.” It doesn't sound convincing, I know. “Are you?”, he questions, his breath ghosting along my neck. “Because I don't see you working right now.” He is right, of course. I could just ignore him and proceed with my paper work. But I don't and we both know, that he has already won. I don't struggle today. No. I smile, turn my head and kiss him. He tilts his own to get a better angle and kisses me back. Somewhere along the line, I feel his nimble fingers remove my stiff collar and it's so much better without that nasty thing, so out of gratitude I open my lips to let his tongue in. He immediately claims my mouth as his and I relish in the taste of pomegranates and cherries. Hyde is talented and skilled and not before long, I'm entangling my fingers in his hair, wanting more. Everything fades around us and I forget how wrong and perverse it is to lie with another man, forget that Hyde is legally only twenty years old and could be my son (and as my creation he technically is) and that we're committing a serious crime**. All I know in this moment is, that I desire him and the forbidden fruit he offers to me. “Hyde”, I say, “Let's take this upstairs.” He grins in triumph and helps me up. He is never as gentlemanly as when he seduces me and that alone makes me want him more. Eagerly, we hurry to my bedroom. On the way Poole throws us a questioning glance, because it's only nine pm and I never retire this early. I just about manage give him the order to let no one come near my room for the night, before Hyde pulls me inside. He closes the door after me, locking it for good measure. It's a good thing I can count on the discretion and loyalty of my servants or we would both be ruined. He doesn't wait until we're in my bed, but pins me against the door. Greedily we devour each other's mouth, as we undress. Within moments, we're pressed against each other, skin on skin and I feel his heat and cold. His left hand brushes my nether regions, teases them deliberately. It makes me growl and I lift him up. He yelps in surprise and laughs, as I carry him to the bed, dropping him onto the sheets unceremoniously. I lie beside him and allow him to crawl on top of me, because he doesn't like to be the bottom, despite me being the older and taller one. He kisses me on the lips, then travels down my jaw, neck, chest and stomach, before ending up between my legs. I gasp, as his tongue caresses the sensitive skin on my thighs and I feel myself harden. Then he sucks me and I have to bite my arm to stifle my cries. “Edward! Ahhh … oh god … ohhh, don't stop … oh, Edward!” I make a sigh of his name, a moan, a cry, a plea … a prayer. Hyde doubles his efforts and now I can't hold back any longer. Then he shoves a finger inside me, two and three, but it's not enough, I need more, I need him sheathed inside me, ploughing me mercilessly, ravishing me like only he can. “Edward … please”, I beg him. He laughs and looks at me with a twinkle in his eyes. I whine, as that little devil removes his fingers and his mouth from me and sits up. “Why, my dear doctor”, he scolds me, “If you want pleasure, you have to work for it!” I know what is expected of me, sit up and get on my fours. With a last hungry gaze into his wicked green eyes, I position my head in front of his half hard erection, take it into my mouth and begin to suck it slowly. He moans lowly and I feel his spidery fingers entangling themselves in my blond hair. I know just how he likes it, I am his other half after all. He is rock hard in no time, but just like me, he wants more. He presses himself into my mouth completely, obviously expecting me to give him a deep-throat. But it has been decades since I last gave one, so I choke, when his manhood brushes my palate and pharynx. He notices and removes himself from my mouth. “Sorry, sorry. Shhh”, he apologises, as I cough and wheeze and he strokes my throat and cheek. “I forgot how much out of practise you are.” My gag reflex settles down and I can breath evenly. With a smile I clasp the hand caressing my face and gaze deeply and lovingly into his eyes. He smiles back with uncharacteristic tenderness and softness. I love this smile, because it's reserved for me, Henry Jekyll, his unworthy other half, his inferior creator. I want to tell him how much I love him. But there are no words strong enough and I'm too overwhelmed to say anything other than his name. “Lie down on your back”, he commands me and I obey and spread my legs like the whore I am. He runs his fingers up my legs and lets his tempting touch tingle my skin and kindle my desire to have him finally inside me. “Beautiful”, he whispers, eyeing my body as if I was an Adonis (I'm not). “Oh, you have no idea how beautiful you are, my sweet doctor.” He lifts my head and shoulder up, so he can kiss me on the lips and he does so, deeply and passionately. I requite the kiss with equal passion, whine into his sinfully sweet mouth and grind against him, because I want him, I need him, I need his fire to consume me until nothing is left.

“Edward”, I whimper, “Please … don't tease me any longer. I can't take it any more. I need you … I need you so bad!” Hyde smirks deviously and licks his lips sensually. “Oh, you dirty, lecherous old man”, he taunts me, “Grinding against me, begging me to fuck your brains out, like a London whore. Where is your prim and demure demeanour now? But fear not, my lusty doctor, I'll make you feel so good, that you'll forget who you are.” Finally, he positions himself in front of my hole and enters me in one rough thrust. I groan in pain, my eyes begin to water and I start sobbing, because I'm so overwhelmed by the pain and the desire and it feels so good to have his throbbing arousal finally inside me, but I still need more, I need him to live up to his promise soon. Now he begins to move slowly and teasingly, it's almost painful and I move against him, moaning, sobbing, begging him to pound me faster, harder. He complies and on top of that, he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking greedily. I gasp and entangle my fingers in his hair yet again. Our eyes meet, his glowing with diabolic passion, mine clouded with lust, love and tears of joy. A salacious grin appears on his face, then he moves his hand up to tweak my other nipple between his thumb and fingers and it makes me cry out and writhe in desire. All of this is too much for my senses. The way he savagely thrusts into me, snarls obscene things into my ear, licks, sucks and tweaks my nipples and then, to top it all off, he takes my own manhood into his free hand. I move into him as much as I can, screaming his name all the while. My entire being is on fire, I'm burning, the heat within me gets stronger and stronger. And I can tell it's the same for him, because his thrusts become even faster and more brutal and his panting becomes increasingly erratic. Suddenly he grabs my head, yanks me up and sinks his teeth into my neck and shoulders, covering them in love bites. Once again, pain mixes with lust and then his flame bursts. He comes with a guttural growl, I feel his seed explode inside of me and it pushes me over the edge as well, sets me ablaze. Stars dance before my eyes, I throw my head back and scream his name, as the flames of hell engulf me and I climax. And in this moment, I do forget who I am. We scream our orgasms out into the night and I'm pretty sure that someone hears us, but right now I can't find it in my heart to care. Hyde collapses on top of me with his sword still sheathed inside me and his skin is both hot and cold on mine, as we both lie in the afterglow, faces flushed, covered in sweat and semen, gazing into each other's eyes and smiling blissfully. “Edward”, I coo tenderly and caress his face. He smiles lopsidedly but softly, with a certain fondness. We lie like this for a while in deep relaxation and I am happy and in love. Then the wicked gleam returns to his eyes and he grins again. I blink in confusion. What could he be up to now? He rolls off me, then points at my sticky torso. “Do you want me to clean that mess, doctor?”, he suggests mischievously. I know how he means it and nod. Hyde goes to work and licks the stickiness off me with the eagerness of a common girl at the promise of more money. I sigh in enjoyment, while he cleans me as meticulously as a cat cleans her fur. At some point I feel heat arise in me again. Renewed excitement bubbles up in my abdomen and I blush in embarrassment. He sees my obvious arousal and cackles: “Oho! Looks like someone is ready for round two!” I chuckle quietly: “Edward, I don't think my bum can take any more.” That's true. In fact, I'm quite sure, that I won't be able to walk tomorrow. But Hyde shakes his head and laughs: “Who says that you will be the one, who gets fucked?” I gape at him in surprise. Edward Hyde hates not being the one in power. Normally he only allows me to top, when we're having angry sex or when I initiate it (which doesn't happen often), rarely in a relaxed environment. He smirks and busies himself with blowing my growing erection once more. I moan lowly and hoarsely, because my voice is gone from all the screaming. Meanwhile his hand runs up and down my abdomen and waist, making me mewl. Then I growl, because he gives me the deep-throat I failed to give him earlier. I struggle to resist the urge to press further into his mouth. That would make him choke, experienced as he may be. “Oh, Edward …” After what seems like a few minutes, he stops, removes his mouth from me and admires his handiwork. “What a glorious sight! Henry, you lucky sod! Do you have the faintest idea, how many men of all ages would sell their soul to be so vigorous and able as you?” I blush and look away bashfully. Really, my alter ego makes me feel like a shy young man all over again! He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him again. “No need to be so shy, Henry. Not after you begged for my dick and screamed my name so many times, that now you can hardly talk!”, he chuckles. My blush grows darker at how Hyde makes use of words that I would never take into my mouth. But then he returns to his spot next to me, lying on his back and spreading his own legs for me. “Come on, doctor”, he rasps and his bright green eyes darken with lust, “Your patient needs you to cure his fever.” That makes me smirk. He senses what I'm up to, gives me a warning frown and I understand. Being the bottom makes him anxious. I must not let him wait. I roll on top of him and he practically disappears beneath me, being so small. When I grind against him, he cries out, presses himself against me in return and wraps his legs around me. “Ah! Ohh yes … o-oh! Nnng – oh Henry – ahhh … oh fu-” I muffle him with a searing kiss. As he kisses me back, his thin, wiry arms wrap themselves around my neck and torso, keeping my body pressed against his. Shamelessly he moans into my mouth and I feel his tiny body rub against my large one. Finally the need for air becomes too great and we have to end the kiss, so we can breathe. His pale face is flushed, his dark hair is sticking into his face, his lips are reddened and swollen and his eyes are slightly damp, full of real longing and desire. It's truly beautiful, but if I told him that, he wouldn't believe it. I stroke the damp strands out of his face and kiss him on the cheek, before working my way down from his face, neck, chest, stomach and finally to his thighs and nether regions. He gasps, as I take his erection into my mouth and make up for the blowjob I messed up earlier, while simultaneously fingering him slowly. “Doctor! Stop teasing me. I need you … give me your healing staff … stick it inside me already … don't make me wait.” I almost laugh at the way he manages to work me up by bringing my profession into our lovemaking. “Of course, of course”, I say sweetly, before I grab his hips with both hands and enter him carefully. I groan lowly at the lovely sensation of his tight hole squeezing my rod. But Hyde hisses, face contorted with pain and I feel his legs tremble against mine. Then a sharp pain as he violently drags his finger nails down my back, most certainly drawing blood. That's another one of the reasons he hates taking it. It hurts him every time. I wish it didn't, but he is so small and tight and I'm big. All I can do is to be as tender as possible and ensure that he feels more pleasure than pain. “Shhh, shhh”, I coo, stroke his hips, sides and stomach soothingly and pepper his neck and shoulders in gentle kisses, while he whimpers into my shoulder. After a while his body relaxes and his breathing eases down and he leans up to breathe into my ear: “Move.” At first I go slowly and it's so hard to hold back. But my consideration pays off. Soon enough he closes his eyes and sighs in pleasure and my heart swells, because now he begins to feel as good as I do. “Oh, Henry … yes …” When I pick up my pace, I'm forced to support myself against the mattress, so that my other half isn't crushed by my full weight. He isn't fragile by any means, but I'm still a lot heavier than he is. “Ah! Ohhh, oh yes! H-Henry! Oh fuck! Yes! Henry! Harder! Faster! Please!”, he croaks. I sit up and pull him up into my lap, impaling him even further. Hyde begins to moan louder, as I pound into him, wraps one arm around my body, the other around my neck and starts to ride me. I groan at the sensation, at his expertise even in this field, at how bloody good this feels. “E-Edward … o-oh my god! Ah!” He probably doesn't hear it, he's too busy calling out my name in return. I'm so proud that I can make him do that, make him lose himself in the pleasure I give him. Then I take his hard-on into my hand and jerk him off. His moans turn into lustful howling and shouting and again he scratches my back, albeit this time not purposefully. I ignore how my eardrums are ringing from the volume of his shrieking and affectionately gaze at his beautifully flustered, euphoric face and drink up the joy flowing from his wide acid green eyes. “Henry! Ah! Yes, right there! Henry! Henr-” Again I muffle his cries with a kiss, our tongues dance, our saliva mingles and his body is pressed against mine and my own eyes fill with tears of love. “Edward”, I pant, “My dear … other half … my fire … my soul!” “My soulmate”, he chokes, “My doctor … my creator … my heart!” The flame within me grows and grows and I know that I'm close. In sweet retribution, I sink my teeth into his neck repeatedly, marking him as mine and drawing blood. Of course he scratches me again - this time across the sides, but this pain is nothing compared to the happiness I feel. My thrusts become rougher and I grab his behind, pulling him further onto me, while he wraps his arms around my neck and stares deep into my eyes. “B-bite me again – ah!”, he demands, “Mark me as yours – oh! G-give me your injection – nng! Fill me with your love – a-ah! P-please, I need it – ohhhh – fuck, I'm so close-” Who is the whore now? I smile and nod. Then he throws his head back and shouts: “Ahhhh! I'm coming! Oh fuck, I'm coming!” He ejaculates hard onto our stomachs and chests, his walls constrict around me and that is all it takes to push me to my own release. Everything around me becomes fire and heat and flaring light and I explode inside him with a grunt, harder and more than I expected for the second time this night. “Edward!” “Henry!” Our bodies quake from the orgasm, as the rest of the night is once more disturbed by our screaming. I don't know how much time passes. But as we sit in the afterglow, try to catch our breaths and gaze into each other's eyes, exhaustion finally settles in. Hyde rests his head on my shoulder, rubs his cheek against it and purrs. I resist the urge to make a cat joke, but chuckle and run my fingers through his tousled hair. The purring intensifies. Gently I peck his forehead and whisper, that I love him. He doesn't answer, but that's fine. He will never say these words, never will be able to. He can only express them in the only way he knows, by dropping his defences and giving all of himself. And I fall for him all over again. We kiss one last time, tenderly and affectionately. Finally I set him down and slip out of him. He rolls onto his side and I lie next to him, embracing him from behind. Hyde turns his head and tiredly grins at me over his bony shoulder. “Hey, Henry.” “Hm?” “Happy birthday.”

…

*Common girl - euphemism for a prostitute.

**in August 1885 an act was passed to regulate prostitution. It contained an article that criminalised homosexuality. Up until then, it had only been sodomy, that had been punishable, but now homosexual love in general became illegal. It only was decriminalised in England and Wales more than 80 years later, in 1967, and a bit later in Scotland and Northern Ireland.

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #jekyde #jekyllxhyde #shameless smut #sorry not sorry #i regret nothing

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