#patent black studded stilettos
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#sugarshack#patent black studded stilettos#patent stilettos#legs and heels#hot#beautiful eyes#elegant#beauty legs#beautiful smile#beautiful woman
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Are You Sure? A Resus Fantasy
(This is a dark/kinky story I posted years ago on that other site that Tumblr doesn't like us linking to. NSFW)
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“I've been dreaming about this.”
“Me too.”
Ellen smiled and kissed me. She flipped her long raven black hair out of her face, batted an eyebrow, then reached over and flicked the power on the EKG monitor.
I began to strip out of my street clothes. She grabbed my arms and began to assist. First unbuttoning my shirt, then pulling my t-shirt over my head. Before I could reach for my pants, she pushed me towards the bed next to the monitor. I sat.
She pulled out a packet of EKG tabs, tore them open, and began applying them to my chest one by one. The cool gel at the center of each sent a rush of adrenaline through my system and sped up my heart beat. She connected them to the monitor next to her bed.
71 beats per minute.
Ellen smiled and rubbed at the crotch of my pants.
“Already getting excited, are we?”
I didn't need to answer. She could feel.
“Lay down.”
I obeyed.
“I want to tie you down.”
We had not discussed this.
“Why?”
“For me.”
It didn't seem like the biggest concession in the world.
“Okay.”
She reached into the same drawer that had housed her EKG tabs, and produced a set of soft, black rope handcuffs. First she restrained my right wrist to the head board of the bed, then my left.
Running her hand down my body, she unzipped my pants and pulled them down, spending an agonizingly long time slowly rubbing over my hardening cock.
Down to my undershorts, she climbed atop me and kissed me again.
“I'll be back. Don't go anywhere.”
I chuckled.
As she disappeared behind the closed door to her bathroom, I focused on the EKG, reading every one of my heart beats. I'd never fallen into the category of a cardiophile – I was chasing the resus - but in the moment, I found it entrancing.
Minutes passed, and my heart beat slowed. I felt drowsy.
Why was I getting so tired?
65 beats per minute.
60.
55.
50.
Ellen called from the bathroom.
“Almost ready. Don't arrest until I get back.”
Arrest?
Again, this is not what we had discussed. She was supposed to stop my heart with the paddles.
I tried to pull at the restraints, but I was too weak.
The door opened.
Ellen had changed some of the ground rules, but she didn't deviate from my requests for her attire
Knee-high patent leather stiletto boots. Fishnet stockings with garters connected to black crotchless panties. A pastel blue corset. Her raven hair pulled back tight. Thick black eyeliner – winged - with smokey eyelids and long, false lashes. Heavy, dark blush. Jet black lips. A tiny diamond stud on her right nostril and a diamond hoop in her septum.
My domantrix doctor.
“How do I look?”
I struggled to get words out.
“Perfect. Am I dying?”
“Yes, but I'm going to bring you back.”
She came to my bedside. God, she was perfect.
“I put something in your drink at dinner. Slow acting. We've still got some time.”
She pulled down my undershorts. My heart was slowing, but my cock was still rock hard.
“Better make sure these are ready to go.”
Ellen produced several syringes from her special drawer. She laid it out next to the defibrillator.
Then she grabbed the paddles.
“I don't know if I want your heart to stop first, or if I want to stop it.”
I tried to speak. I couldn't.
40 beats per minute.
“Lady's choice. First thing's first though.”
She laid her jet black lips to my unresponsive ones, kissing and tugging at them with her teeth. Grinding on my cock.
She eased her hips over me and slid down my shaft.
As she sat on my cock, she leaned over and grabbed the conductive gel. Slathering it on, she then rubbed the pads together and slid them onto my chest.
35 beats per minute.
She started bouncing on my cock.
Harder.
Faster.
30 beats per minute.
She moaned loud.
If my heart had been working properly, I know I would've enjoyed the orgasm more.
She kept working my cock as it dry heaved deep inside her.
“My turn.”
She slid off, and in the smoothest motion I've ever seen, set the defibrillator to charge to 200 joules, placed the paddles on my chest, and shocked me.
For 15 years, I'd wondered if being shocked would feel as good as it looked.
It did.
The electricity tore through me. The sensation was incredible - I felt it in every part of my body. I could hardly contain the pleasure. Like the best orgasm I'd ever had, just moments ago, but multiplied by 50.
My eyes relaxed. They stared straight up. I could no longer move them.
The EKG rang out – asystole.
Ellen put the paddles back in the cradle.
“You're mine now.”
She rubbed the gel over me for another moment, matting it in the hairs on my chest.
I couldn't look, but I could hear – she went back to her drawer.
She re-entered my vision with a straight blade and an ET tube.
Goddamnit, she was amazing – she was going to intubate me.
“I've not intubated anyone in a while – tell me if it hurts.”
Even while I was lying on her bed, clinically dead, she was the funniest woman I'd ever met.
She stroked my cheek lovingly.
I felt the blade go in my mouth and the tube go down inside me. She secured it with a Thomas holder.
Expecting her to start bagging me, she leaned in and wrapped her black lips around the tube and blew in.
I wanted to orgasm again.
She blew in one more time, then nuzzled close to me and nibbled at my ears a bit.
“I have to put a back board under you. CPR is worthless on a soft mattress.��
Out of my vision she went.
She rolled me towards the EKG, so I could see myself flatlining.
The backboard was cold.
“Alright, are you ready?”
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...
Ellen crushed my heart between my sternum and my spine. I enjoyed it less than the shocks, but I loved watching her tower over me. Her eyes locked to mine. My life completely in her hands.
“Here comes the Epi. This stuff is expensive. Please don't make me use two.”
She slammed the needle into my heart. It stung.
As she pressed the plunger on the syringe, I felt warmth spreading though my torso.
More compressions. Her perfect breasts bounced beneath the cradle of her corset.
She wrapped her lips around my ET tube and blew in two more times.
“Come on. Get that heart shaking for me.”
The warmth of the epi continued to spread, but the flatline tone continued.
More compressions. She seemed more aggressive now.
Still flatline.
“Okay, one more epi. But you have to revive me the next two weekends.”
I think I can manage that.
My chest went from warm to hot.
More compressions. More deep breaths from her black lips.
The tone on the EKG changed.
“Okay my dear, half the battle won. Charging paddles...”
She picked up the pads.
“No sense in dilly-dallying with a low setting. Let's go right to 360 this time, shall we?”
Ellen applied more gel to the still-shiny capacitors.
“Shocking.”
BAM! My body took off like a rocket. The hot feeling of the epi gave way to white flame engulfing my body.
The EKG made a different sound. A few beeps..
I felt something in my groin.
“Honey... you just ejaculated again! How...”
Just as quickly as the beeps started, an alarm returned.
“Ugh. Not going to be easy at all, are you? 360 again... shocking!”
BAM!
The alarm went from angry to furious.
“No! No! Don't you do that!”
I knew the sound of a flatline tone.
Ellen climbed back aboard my body and blew two more breaths into my tube, then ran her hands down my cheeks, my throat, before settling on my chest.
Re-interlocking her fingers, she resumed her assault.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
For the first time, the edges of my vision went blurry.
Was I dying? Like, not just clinically dying, but dying-dying?
Things got a little darker. Ellen's voice had an echo about it. But the EKG sounded different. V-fib?
“Going again at 360... come back to me!”
BAM!
“Again!”
BAM!
“Goddamn you, again!”
BAM!
Total blackness.
And then my eyes opened.
It was no longer night. Sun shined through the blinds.
A gentle beep, beep, beep from the bedside EKG.
The ET tube was still in, but nothing was connected to it. I was breathing on my own.
I turned my head to the EKG. 67 beats per minute.
I turned my head the other way.
Ellen looked at me lovingly. The dominatrix doctor was gone. Her face was freshly scrubbed. No more smokey eyes or black lips. She had had changed to a flannel pajama top. The clip on septum ring was gone, but she'd kept the diamond nose stud.
She stroked my cheek again. Then she rubbed the jewel glued to her nose.
“I like the nose stud. Should I get a real one?”
I squinted and pointed at the ET tube.
She giggled.
“I had to shock you five times at 360 to get you back.”
I gestured at the ET tube.
She giggled again.
“You want it out? It looks good on you.”
She came out from under the sheets, and climbed atop me again. She leaned in and wrapped her lips around the tube. The first time she blew into it, I was out of sync with her. But the second, third, and fourth were perfect.
She smiled.
“Cough.”
I coughed, and she pulled hard on the tube.
My coughing fit seemed to last forever.
“How did it feel?”
I smiled.
“Incredible.”
“How much do you remember?”
“Everything.”
She rolled back on top of me and kissed me like the first time she kissed me.
“Next time, it's my turn.”
I pushed her off.
“The next two times. And I have some ideas.”
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Beautiful 😍
#patent black studded stilettos#beautiful woman#beautiful smile#legs and heels#hot#beautiful eyes#black clutch with chain#black leather skirt#elegant#white blouse#red lipstick
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that christmas lights glow - feysand.
ao3 || masterlist || feysand masterlist || wishing you a very smutty holiday masterlist
word count: 8224
trigger warnings: language, very very very explicit sexual content.
tag list: ask to be tagged in my feysand stuff and your wish will be granted, thank you and please do.
the night manor, close to midnight.
Effect.
The dress has effect in quantities unheard of.
Affect.
The dress is for damn sure going to have an affect on her husband.
The colour of her husband’s eyes, it’s a not-so-subtle show of her love for him and the adoration that’s never faded. With sleeves travelling the entire length of her arms, ending in a tight cuff at her wrist, it’s going to keep her as warm as possible in the December air. The high neckline makes its own effort to keep her warm, as well hides the barrage of hickeys (she’s twenty-fucking-eight, she’s too old to be calling them hickeys) and bites her husband has decorated her neck with.
Something about showing the world whose she is, who actually gets to be with her at the end of the day.
Counterintuitively, from beneath her right breast till the dress hits the floor, the fabric is held together by safety pins. Or at least that’s effect. In reality, stitching keeps her dress closed and the actual gap between each side of the fabric is only two inches wide. Feyre isn’t in the business of flashing anyone but her husband.
The silver metal of the pins contrasts the midnight of her dress, the entire piece together creating a homage to the night sky. The dress is skin tight from her neck until the flare of her hips, before floating out into a gentle skirt at the dip of her thighs. The silk brushes her shins and calves with each minute movement of Feyre’s, the effect is luxurious.
The silk puddles at her feet, a sea of navy.
Despite the scandalous effect of the safety-pinned split, the real scandal, the real daredevil act only comes when Feyre turns. A split runs from where her thighs meet her ass, down her skirt. With each of her steps, the dress will part at the back and reveal the tan expanse of her legs (it’ll be incredibly useful when her husband takes it upon himself to fuck her in the ballroom’s darkest corner).
Adorning her feet are a pair of patent black stilettos, the pointiest of toes and the skinniest of heels. A walking death trap personified. And is Feyre is being honest, her biggest fear isn’t flashing the public, or having her dress split—it’s falling over in these ridiculous heels. But they make her feel powerful beyond words, like she’s some fucking goddess who’s kicking ass and taking names and looking fucking delectable while doing so, all in the highest of heels.
She decides to keep her jewellery simple, a pair of small diamond studs in her first lobe piercings, moving up to a dark blue pair of moons in her second lobe piercings, and then an assortment of dark blue gemstones and diamond studs and silver rings in her other piercings.
The only rings she wears are her engagement and wedding rings on her left ring finger, and other than those her hands are left unadorned.
The soft curls of her hair run down her back, a few stray pieces tucked behind her ears and falling beneath her breasts. The style leaves the collection of gems and precious stones in her ears on perfect, shameless display.
With the focal point of her tonight being her dress, she leaves her face pretty much bare of makeup, layering on mascara, a subtle lip colour, the essentials.
As though taking inventory, Feyre touches each aspect of her, counting things and sorting them in her (how very un-artsy of her). In her mind, she knows exactly why, could give an essay on what she’s doing, how she’s doing it, why she’s doing it. Her every insecurity has followed her from the small apartment she’d been living in when she met her husband to the literal fucking manor they live in now.
From baggy sweats to ball gowns, she’s had insecurities. And if anything, her insecurities have only been made worse. Being in the public eye leaves her up for constant public discussion. Hearing a group of high school girls debate whether or not she’s pregnant because in her last Instagram photo she was wearing a top that was floaty and in the next she only showed her face and the fact that her husband was more all over her than usual. And also, the fact she had a little pouch in the tank top she wore in her Instagram earlier that week. It’s fucking damaging.
She’s so wrapped in her thoughts, in running her palm over her stomach and hoping to the gods it stays this flat for the whole ceremony, hoping that no one starts spreading rumours of a pregnancy, hoping her inboxes aren’t suddenly full of blended images of the couple, aged down, to represent how cute their children will be.
Feyre already knows how cute their children will be.
With a husband that looks like her husband, the facial features and the hair and the body, and her own facial features, it’s a fucking guarantee their children together will be cute. With his eyes and her hair, his height and her delicate fingers, his smile and her button nose. Or maybe her eyes and his hair, his caramel skin tone and her frequent freckles, his jawline and her cheekbones.
No matter the combination of features, the nature of their specific traits, they’ll look fucking stunning. They’ll the kind of kid you look at and say they’ll be a heartbreaker when they’re older.
She’s shocked from her thoughts suddenly, her small smile dropping from her face in shock, her thoughts scattered as a result of the knock at the door, the way it swings open with no hesitation. Feyre knows in her somewhere, that it could only ever be her husband.
They live alone in their ridiculous house, no maids or butlers or cooks or cleaners. Her sisters and their husbands won’t be here tonight (they’re meeting at the event). The overdramatic nature of him had an extensive security system installed that means no one can get past the front gate without having passed thirty different tests. Twenty-nine of which they don’t know they’re taking.
This inner knowledge doesn’t stop her turning around, fists clenched and raised, a fierce expression on her face, her fight or flight responses so easily triggered after the rollercoaster of her early dating history.
“Darling, it’s only me. It’s only me, don’t worry. Here, come here, my love.” With his arms spread and her fingers making a come-hither motion, Feyre looses her feet from the shackles they seem to be in, rendering her temporarily tethered to the rough, rug covered floor of their bedroom. Even with only his voce to soothe, as her eyes remain screwed shut, in anticipation. Her feet carry her swiftly to the embrace her husband offers, to the solid warmth of him, to the security of him, to him.
His chin easily rests on top of her head, her own fitting perfectly into his chest and the junction of his neck and shoulder. One hand grips the nape of her neck under the thick curtain of her hair, while the other rests on the small of her back, cradling her into him.
His hand makes slow, relaxed, stroking motions against her back, soothing her in the way he always has. Something about his hands in these places, the slow motions and the tapping of his fingertips, it’s all magic.
“Rhys?” She asks, her voice quiet and strong.
“Yes, Darling?” He responds with, his tone a whisper just as hers was, equally as strong.
“I think, that possibly, you might leave this room pissed off with me when I show you something in a minute, and I think I’m going to love it.” Teasing and joking, her tone so thoroughly suggests that there isn’t a single reality in which Rhys doesn’t understand. Also, he just knows her so well that he couldn’t ever mistake something about for something else.
A soul connection or some shit.
She swears she hears him in her mind sometimes.
“Feyre Darling, you know damn well I could never be pissed at you, I love you far too much to ever become so—
“Feyre motherfucking Archeron! Who, in the names of the gods, do you think you are? Someone exempt from wardrobe malfunctions. Because I will tell you right fucking now, Darling, that you are one waiting to happen. You are a walking wardrobe malfunction right now. Oh, my fucking gods, Feyre…” He trails off, words eaten by Feyre’s most recent tactic.
Her hair falls in front of her, her calves and hamstrings screaming in pain at the angle her heels leave her in, her breasts beg to escape the dress and its handy, built-in bra. Her face slowly becomes red, not that anyone could see such a thing, no one’s in the room other than her and her husband and he's stood behind her… losing his gods-damned mind.
Much to Feyre’s entertainment.
In all her bent over glory, the slit up the back of the dress reveals her ass, the delicate, white lace thong that runs between the cheeks of her ass. She hears the shifting of expensive fabric from behind, knows it’s Rhys rubbing a palm along him thigh, knows his tells like she doesn’t know her own.
“Feyre, fuck, the view from here. Makes me wanna do filthy, dirty, depraved things to you. Things only I can do. Make you try and scream my name while my hand’s around that pretty little throat of yours. Make you watch me make you come, let you watch me as I devour you, all my dark around all your light. All your little around all my big. Would you like that, Darling? Do you want to choke you?” Feyre can’t answer, her chest moves quicker now, her heartbeat rises now, her lips part now, her eyes widen now. All she can do is nod frantically. “Make you see stars; make you see the constellations that make us. Would you like me to make you come? My fingers in your cunt, my cock against your ass, my hand around your throat, my name in your mouth, my love in your heart.”
Blind.
She’s blind in all her overwhelming lust for this man.
In seconds her panties have gone from dry and proper to soaked and messy. Feyre’s so ruined, if his words, words for the gods’ sake, have this wet how wet will she be when he puts his fingers in her, his hand around her throat.
She’s already drenched, what’s beyond drenched?
Her ears are listening intently, trying to detect any hint of her husband around her. Steps, breathing, fabric, sighs, zippers. She can’t hear a thing, but maybe it’s just the thump of her heart in her ears. The blood rushing through her.
In all her intent listening, she forgot the freak gift her husband has. He manages to move across the creaky floors of this manor making no sound, making not even the slightest of noises. He appears suddenly at her back, inches from her but still so far away. She can feel the warmth of his body as it radiates from him, her very own space heater.
He lifts his hands, placing them at the neck of her dress, the fabric ending at her nape, and runs them down the smooth silk of her dress, an inch either side of her spine. Fingers spread wide and his palms hot against the material, she shives out her approval of his touch. Back shifting and shuffling under his gentle, ghosting touch.
His hands wear a path down her back until they reach the split, until they just barely meet the skin of her ass. His touch lifts from her body, and she almost whimpers, almost shouts at Rhys to put them the fuck back on her. She doesn’t.
Because before she can, they’re gripping her hips tightly and tipping her further forward so that she’s forced to rest her palms on bent knees. She’s wobbling in the tittering heels she wears, maybe they aren’t the best choice for a stand-up, grip-a-shelf-or-door-knob-or-drawer-handle, make-an-effort-to-keep-on-your-feet sex.
Does she voice her concerns, that she might topple over and crack her head on the mirror, that she might collapse and fall through the old floor boards, that she might break her knees and toes standing like this for too long. No.
Strong hands still gripping her hips, Rhys moves into a crouched position, leaving his head right where the damp spot on her panties is. Right where her opening is, through the pointless scrap of lace.
He exhales on a heavy breath, pushing hot air at her pussy. Goosebumps erupt over her body, her thighs clench, her pussy for screams gratification. Gods, is she desperate for him. For whatever he’ll give her.
His thumbs rub small circles into her ass, manipulating the flesh beneath them with ease and a little satisfaction. His face remains opposite her core, his mouth that littlest bit too far away for the frantic, erratic rolls of her hips to reach him. Purposeful, she has no doubt.
Her knees shake, her body tenses and relaxes with no schedule, no organisation, no nothing except the need for her husband to fuck her into the fucking floorboards. In her mind, he’s already got a finger in her, pushing all those buttons, rubbing all those sweet spots. Another rubs at her clit, slow and gentle, enough but at the same time not. In her mind, he’s doing something.
Reality is what fucks her up.
Rhys hasn’t moved an inch, a half inch, a quarter inch since she last felt him. He’s still as a fucking stone, the only movement she gives a shit about being the slow, pointless movement of his thumb. It does nothing to bring her orgasm forward, nothing to get her closer to coming.
Feyre wants to look him in the eyes. See that feral want, that primal need, that lust that never dies. The blue of his eyes so extremely violet right now, the pupils blown so ridiculously wide, half mast and cunning. She knows this look well, too well really.
She doesn’t want to count how many times it’s peeked up at her from between her legs, how many times it’s locked with her own in the mirror, how many times it’s collided with her eyes as he lies on top of her. Doesn’t want to think how many times those eyes have stayed locked on hers as she comes, around his finger, on his tongue, surrounding his cock.
Even as she comes around her own fingers, or even a toy.
Lost in her thoughts, drenched in the heavy heat of Rhysand’s gaze and faint touches, her mind loses track of time and space and the collective continuum. She forgets that her husband has a sneaky streak a mile long. Forgets that surprise presents, or parties, or fucks are his favourite to both receive and give.
One, nimble finger runs beneath the glorified string of her panties, nail dragging against her skin, no doubt leaving the faintest of faint red lines. He pulls the string taut, leaving his finger hovering over the soaked opening of her pussy. His finger pulls harder, the fabric of her thong tucked into the curl of his finger, dragging the lace through the lips of her pussy, dragging it over her clit, making her squirm.
“Darling, if you’re this wet at just the idea of me, of what I could do to you, how wet will you be when I put a finger in you, when I use my tongue on your clit, when you feel my cock inside that tight, little pussy.” Smokey, hazy, crazy.
With a muttered curse, Rhysand dips a finger under the ruined lace of her underwear, feeling Feyre’s wetness soak his finger, loving the way it does so. At the slight contact, Feyre’s hips buck, rolling towards Rhys and the pleasure his body, his existence, promises her. The erratic movements of her hips do nothing to help her, Rhys removing that blessed finger the moment she tries to push it further into her. “Darling, good girls don’t move, okay, so that means neither do you. Stay nice and still, keep looking pretty for me, and then you can come.”
“I promise, I’ll be still. I will, I will. Be a good girl, just let me come. Please, just let me come.” Feyre’s beyond desperate and she hasn’t even been properly touched, hasn’t even felt a touch of those magical fingers inside of her and she’s ready to come all over them. Make it so that she’s dripping down them, maybe lick herself off them, maybe watch as he licks her off of his own fingers.
So many choices, so little time.
Rough hands yank her panties down to her knees, the lace unforgiving as it keeps her legs close together. She’s unwilling to break the lace, given it cost as much as it did. Dragging one long, agile down the crease of her ass, her husband teases her. Brushing it over the puckered entrance of her ass, pushing just the slightest bit. Continuing on until he reaches the pretty pink of her pussy.
“So ready for me, Feyre Darling. Pretty cunt begging for me and my touch, dripping down these thighs of yours in an effort to tempt me, huh. Such a depraved little thing you are.” For a moment she wonders why? why is she depraved, all he’s doing is teasing.
Only after her thoughts does she register the slow path his other hand took, up her body and around to the front of her throat. His fingers wrap around her throat, a light grip that feels so deliciously heavy against her pulse point. A small squeeze has her body close to convulsing. Before she does though, she remembers her husband’s words: how she can’t come if she moves. She has to be still, has to be a good girl. Only then can she come.
She calms the urge, relaxing into the hold he has on her, the sensation of those fingers brushing her skin with the callouses adorning them. Gods, he has such delightful fingertips.
Still focused on the hand around her throat, Rhysand drags his finger through her slit, bringing it to the bud of her clit. He presses—hard and fast—on it, circling it with vicious precision. A moan blooms in her throat, pushing past all control she’s ever had over her body, and escaping ruinously from her throat. The room fills with the sound, all raspy and rough, her pleasure like harmony with the slow, wet sounds from Rhys’ finger.
On the tail end of the moan, his finger pushes into the soaked opening of her, barely an inch but so embarrassingly welcomed by her walls. The clench around it, tight and unyielding as he pushes in another inch. It’s overwhelming, and it’s only one finger.
It’s not a new sensation, but it’s one Feyre had expected to fade after the first few ties she and Rhys had fucked. Thought the feelings he offered as his fingers, tongue, cock fucked her would dissipate as she became used to them.
How wrong she was.
And never before has she been so glad to be wrong.
On the next thrust in, he flexes his fingers around her throat, tightening enough that her body chokes on the sensation, her field of vision narrowing in what she can only describe as ecstasy. Sh feels high, like she’s floating on clouds and there’s no ground to catch her when she falls. Only an eternity of wind in her hair, clouds in her vision.
She feels free.
A second finger enters her, stretching her around it. The folds of her cunt touch the palm of his hand as they reach as deep as they can go. The sit for a moment, then in an explosion of pleasure they brush her g-spot over and over. Rubbing that spot, teasing it, pleasing it, overwhelming it. In a show of utmost control, she doesn’t move beyond the shattered expansions of her ribs as her heart pumps too fast.
Whimpers and moans are pulled from her quickly, one after another, filling the air, filling her ears, filling Rhys’ ears. Se’s dripping down his fingers now, dripping down her thighs, crazy in her pursuit of her orgasm. A low laugh, husky, teasing, music to her fucking ears, escape her husband. “Oh, Darling. Do you want to come, do you want to shatter on my fingers, clench around them, feel it as I continue to fuck them into you while your orgasm wrecks you. Unrelenting till you come over them again, and then again. Till you’re so oversensitive you can’t anymore. Does that sound nice?”
“Y-Yeah. Oh, fuck! Rhys. Oh, my gods. Just, please.” Incoherent and disastrous, she slams her eyes closed in the same moment a third finger joins. Pushing in, joining the other digits in their thorough teasing. The stretch around them is nirvana, heaven, Jannah, paradise. She loves it so.
Every brush of his finger against that rougher patch of her walls, has his fingers flexing around her throat, her cunt clenching around his finger fiercely in response. She’s so close, she’s inches from crumbling off that cliff, from falling from that cloud, from a state of pleasure and nothing more than.
His hand tightens, his thumb teases her clit, his little finger brushes the entrance of her ass, running a light circle around the tight ring. The holy trinity of sensations, she’s going to be a mess after this.
Only a second more and she’s coming with a scream that could wake the dead. She’s coming with a force she knows will leave her exhausted. She’s coming and coming all over those fingers of his, even as they continue to work that one spot, that one place.
“Fuck, Darling, so pretty when you come. So fucking gorgeous. Cunt quivering around my fingers, come leaking from around them. Gods, it almost hurts how hard you’re clenching.” His voice has awe written into every corner of it.
His fingers straighten inside of her, still as she clenches around them, still coming. Letting her g-spot rest, he instead begins to thrust them into her. Pulling out and pushing in, inside and outside, over and over and over. His thumb still rests on her clit, the bud dangerously tight, throbbing with its own raging heartbeat.
His fingers pull out entirely, leaving her treacherously empty and begging for more, more, more. To be filled and fucked. She’s so torturously empty.
Her clit’s pinched between his index finger and his thumb, squeezed between them in pain that’s almost entirely pleasure. She’s sure her husband can see the fervent clenching and relaxing of her cunt as she wants for his touch. She’s sure his mind is actively refusing to give her that relief of his fingers inside of her.
The two soaked fingers not teasing her clit to the point of pan begin to stroke along her clit. Passing over the soaked folds like feathers. A touch that isn’t really touch. His thumb and forefinger continue to pinch and tweak her clit, pulling it and filling her body with the absolutely feral need to come again. Preferably all over him.
His middle and ring finger are deviants as they tease her, stopping for a moment before opening her lips up for Rhys’ viewing pleasure. The fingers are sunk first-knuckle deep into her, spread wide apart as they open her up, split her down the middle and reveal the tortured red of her cunt. She’s saturated in come, she imagines, Rhys no doubt soaking the view up.
Pain pulls her every other thought, instead focusing on the shot of pain centred to her clit.
Her clit, hard and craving attention, stings from being flicked. The sensation of Rhys’ fingernail as it made contact with her will stick by her, the follow through brutal. Fingers move their previous positions to her core, to her opening. Two fingers thrust in, another rubbing along her folds, while the little finger refocuses itself on her ass and the ring of tight muscle there.
Two fingers thrusting in and out, another teasing her clit and folds, and a fourth teasing her ass, and four fingers and a thumb wrapped around her throat, she comes again.
Violently, truly, deeply, madly.
Her body shakes, vibrations rendering her legs pretty much useless. It’s down to the strength in Rhys’ arms to keep her standing, rather than lying on the floor.
His fingers don’t offer a reprieve from their onslaught, thrusting and twisting and teasing her, scraping her front wall, brushing that one spot that has fireworks going off in her mind, that has her moaning and writhing.
She oversensitive, hypersensitive, overwhelmed, she’s all this and so much. Every touch of her husband’s fingers has her jerking in his firm hold, and her every jerk has him tightening the grip on her neck, has him digging his thumb into the thumping pulse point on her neck. His fingers have snuck under the high neck of her dress, brush the soft, biteable skin of her neck periodically.
“Come on, Darling, I know you’re close. Can feel your cunt as it clenches around my fingers. Let go, let go and come on my fingers. With my hand around neck, choking you, come on my fingers and let me see that pretty pink pussy of yours as you shatter and come apart all around me.” His words are practically instructions.
She lets go of all inhibitions.
She wriggles, writhes, wiggles. Rocks, rolls and ruins.
She’s a picture of divinity, of power and femininity in sexuality. She’s all smudged eye makeup, tangled hair and rucked up dress skirts, shaking high heels. Muscled legs shined with sweat. She’s all dark blue silk and tanned skin and the contrast of thoroughly tattooed skin against the paleness of her own.
A squeeze of his hand. An extra fierce thrust. The slow slide of his little finger around her ass. The flick of thumb on her clit. The low groan from his throat.
Senses are overwhelmed, body stills before going wild. Her head shakes and her neck twists, her arms shake and shudder, her legs tremble, her toes curl.
She comes magnificently.
Screams rip from her throat, the force of her orgasm damn near pushing Rhys’ fingers from inside of her. She drips down her thighs, her come thick and just waiting for Rhys to introduce his tongue to it. Whilst she comes, Rhys rubs the pad of his thumb up and down her slit, gathering the wetness coating her, bringing it to his own lips.
In one fell swoop, his hand is gone from her cunt, replaced by his tongue. He licks a greedy line from ass to clit, over the saturated skin of her pussy, over the hard nub of her clit and then back down. He focuses his efforts on her opening, licking every inch of her core taking as much as he can into his mouth. Licking along one lip, then the other.
Dipping the tip of his tongue into her, a fevered taste of her cunt.
His tongue circles and zig-zags, draws lines and curves with each swipe. As he cleans her, she only gets wetter, relishing in the feel of his tongue on her, in her. The forceful strokes down her, the light brushes up her. The subtle kiss of his lips against her opening.
For everything he cleans, she only gets dirtier.
His tongue moves, dipping down to her thighs. From where it joins her ass and down, he licks along the heady lines of her come. She’s wriggling and writhing and whimpering like never before, desperate to feel his tongue inside of her, desperate to feel the blankness her orgasm provides her with, the endless calm of raging pleasure. “Now, now, Darling. Let’s not be so hasty, we’ve got the whole night to enjoy each other, don’t we?” Gods, the way he calls her Darling like it’s her fucking name, not Feyre, is enough to make her want to keep him between her legs for eternity, never let him up.
Let him whisper the words against her soaked pussy, let him draw them onto her goose-bumped flesh with the tip of the silver tongue he’s so proud of, let him do anything he wants because, gods-damn, she’ll always love it more than she ever thought she would.
In a sudden flurry of movement, Rhys detaches his mouth from her thigh, running his tongue over the decadence of her taste on his lips, and steps back. He removes himself completely. He’s no where near close enough to provide any kind of pleasure not delivered by her own hand following his direction, or a Bluetooth toy.
“Pull up your panties, fix your dress, leave the mascara smudges—they do please me—and I think our time here has been spent well, if your hair is anything to go by.” Feyre’s hands travel to her scalp hurriedly, desperate as they fluff and flatten and brush and tangle and tease and fix to an extreme that worries her husband.
On shaking legs and unsteady feet, she takes a few steps towards the ornate wood of their bedroom door, twisting the restored brass doorknob and pulling the heavy thing open. A warmth appears at her back, a solid weight behind her shoulder her body fail her in the aftermath of her orgasms, and someone needs to catch and carry her.
Feyre only hopes she’ll be calm enough to stand on stage and not topple to the side.
The stairs are slow going, as is the entry way. Feyre fusses in the mirror, while Rhys does much the same and so much more. Complains about getting old, saying he has grey hairs and lines around his eyes. Feyre only tells him she likes older men; he replies with a smug smile that tells that he knows she does.
Outside their outrageous house, one Feyre still isn’t used to living in, sits a black, oversized SUV, bulletproof glass and reinforced metal doors and panelling. It’s decked out, and it still shocks Feyre. She forgets sometimes: that not everyone sees the behind the scenes, the worrying and the fretting, that not everyone understands how much love Rhysand has for the Night Court, that not everyone can understand, and that a lot of people take to violence in response.
“Fucking hell, it still bothers me, getting in the back, what good am I as their leader if I can’t even drive myself places. No wonder these people are trying to shoot at me, I look like some up-myself prick.” His mumblings and grumblings are now white noise to Feyre. That’s not to say she doesn’t care, it’s more that she knows she can’t do anything, and that no one else can, so it’s best to let him moan and get his annoyance out.
“Yeah, you do look like a fucking prick. So up yourself your eyes are in your throat. It’s a good look on you, Rhys.” Teasing is always the best way to go though, always fun to take him down a peg or two.
“You know that’s because I look more than good in everything. Especially when I’ve got my head up my ass.” He teases back, it’s how things go.
It’s how they love things to go.
velaris city centre, after midnight.
Rhysand must admit that his wife is fucking stunning, the walking, talking, motherfucking amazing personification of beauty. Of grace and elegance. The kind that kills you slowly.
Stood in a circle of men who think they’re powerful, unknowing of the fact they’re surrounded by the most powerful person in existence, she’s so beyond any kind of description that Rhysand feels the need to invent a new language, just so he can find a way to tell her how fucking marvellous she is.
The navy silk of her dress is criminal, the decadence of her hair, the black of her heels. She a vision of loyalty to herself, to her kingdom.
The men she surrounds herself with are eating from the smooth skin of her palm, she’s handfeeding them her progressive ideals, her new legislations and their conservative asses can’t even realise it. All their screaming of how women are useless and weak, and here they are… adoring one, looking up to one, fighting for a chance with one.
Is soothes Rhys, that their marriage hasn’t stolen that spunk of hers, that fierce need to stand up for the underdog, to give the voiceless a voice, having been the underdog, having been voiceless. It’s all her compassion, all her kindness, all her genuineness, all her everything that makes her Feyre Archeron.
And he wouldn’t change it if the gods ordered it to be so.
His eyes flick from man to man, scouring each one in their semi-circle around his wife. He looks for hands in pockets, awkward stances, intense eye contact, fidgeting. Anything that could tell him that the men are attracted to his wife.
And he hits the jackpot. Every man there is itching his neck, scratching his wrists, kicking the floor with the toe of his shoe, flattening the lapels of his jacket, straightening out his tie. Every one of them is aware his wife is fucking attractive, and they all are doing their best to hide it.
Every one of them knows that Rhysand has a violent streak a mile long, given they all went to university with Rhysand. They all knew the stories of Rhysand and his brothers, what they did their spare time that somehow didn’t interfere with his ability to be elected.
In a sweeping show of his excessiveness, his boldness, his Helion-ness, Helion pushes himself into the group of men. He dwarfs them, his height, his extravagance pushes the men to the furthest corners of the universe.
The white of his suit contradicts the black, the grey, the blue, the pinstripe, the blandness of everyone else’s. The faded turquoise of his shirt, the open two buttons at the top, the lack of his tie, the presence of his signature pendant.
Large arms come up and around the shoulders of Feyre, dwarfing her as he kisses both cheeks, twice. Helion rubs a palm down Feyre’s back, Rhys’ eyes follow the hand like it’s the only thing moving and he’s a predator on the hunt.
Shocked his stare isn’t burning holes into the back of Helion’s hand, Rhysand’s eyes travel up Feyre’s body—very much appreciating the hug of the silk against her skin—until he meets the challenging stare Helion gives him.
Setting a hard stare upon him, Rhysand stays close to the shadows, stays cloaked in them, stays watching from them. He watches Helion take a slight step back, retract his arms from around Feyre, and then proceed to stand next to her without an atom’s width between them and wrap an arm around her waist.
Above his wife’s head, Helion sends Rhys a wink, amber eyes shining with silent laughter. Rhys merely cocks a brow.
He has no doubt his wife knows exactly what’s happening, has no doubt she can smell the tease on Helion’s suit, has no doubt she’s looking forward to her punishment when they’re somewhere private, sometime later.
somewhere private, sometime later.
Feyre knew what she was getting herself into.
Stood next to Helion, letting him rub her back like they do it all the time, huddling into his unnatural warmth like she’s a frost that’s waiting to thaw.
She’s glad she hadn’t been wrong, glad that they were in fact playing a game. Glad she was going get the fucking of a life time here.
The lights are low, the blinds aren’t closed, the furniture is expensive, the atmosphere is very much that of sex and depravity and some form of fucked. The room is all dark tones, deep crimsons, blue that’s very much black, black that’s the midnight sky on New Year’s Day.
A sting against her thigh has her thoughts slipping back to her husband, to his black suit, to his violet eyes, to his silken hair, to his everything that could be sexual and sensual and a turn on. She feels the rich fabric of his suit beneath her thighs, feels the thick muscles in his quadriceps, feels the bulge of his erection.
Feels fucking everything.
A hand runs the length of her side, tucking into her stomach and then down to the front of her dress, along the inside of one thigh, heat of his palm permeating the thin silk. His touch leaves her vibrating on his lap, head lolling back onto his shoulder, nose nestling into his neck.
She’s oversensitive and still far too turned on from their earlier fucking. She’s on edge and so ready to feel the stretch of his cock, the touch of his fingers, the kiss of his lips, the filthy words from his tongue. She can’t wait to feel him give himself over to her, to feel him lose all his carefully contained wildness, all his rough tendencies.
“Gotta get you out of this dress, feel you against me, see you bare for me. You want me to strip you bare, leave you cold in the wind until I warm you up?” Before his sentences are finished, he’s fiddling with the zip hidden beneath her armpit that follows down her side. The slow clicking sounds of the teeth disconnecting fill the air entirely, accompanied only by the hitching of Feyre’s breath and the steady blow of the wind against the windows in the office.
Her zip reaches the bottom, the side of her ribcage exposed to Rhys’ wandering fingers, exposed to the soft caress of the air in the office. With a pat to the bottom of her spine, Rhys urges Feyre to stand up while he remains sitting comfortably—lounging back into the soft, black leather of his office chair—and staring intently up at her. Spinning on her heels, Feyre turns to face her husband with no fuss or attempt of seduction.
With a delicate at her collarbone, Feyre shimmies herself out of her dress, freeing herself from the gentle touch of the silk against her sensitive skin. Every movement had been torture, every brush of fabric had sent a shiver up her spine, sent goose bumps erupting all over her flesh.
She’s soon standing in a puddle of navy-blue silk, rippling like a raging ocean as lights pass over the fabric. She in just her panties and stilettos, body painfully open from the wind’s touch. Her husband’s eyes feast upon her, they trail along every inch of exposed skin, memorising each freckle, treating her body as though he’s never seen it before.
Feyre lifts her hands to place them in her hair, to fluff it, to exaggerate her tits, to tease Rhys.
His lips split into a feral smile, all teeth and canines, tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip in some sort of effortless seduction that has Feyre letting out the tiniest of sighs. Rhys’ ears snap up at her heavy breath, eyes following suit and gluing themselves to the tight peaks of her nipples, rosy in their desperation.
Patting a large against his thigh, Rhys beckons Feyre to him, inviting her to feel the solid bulge in his suit pants against the smooth skin of her ass, against her begging pussy. Through the lace of her panties, through the thick fabric of his pants, through his own underwear but still right fucking there. Ready for the taking (into Feyre’s mouth).
In her trance of addiction to the tattoos running the length of her husband’s body, still very much hidden by his suit, she complies in an instance. High-heeled feet taking her to the expanse of Rhys’ lap, to his thighs once again. Before she can sit down again, he holds up a hand to stop her in her tracks.
“Before you come any closer, I need you to unzip me, Darling. Nice and slowly though, yeah?” His voice is smooth like liquor over ice, like light over glass, like the ocean over sand. She crumbles to her knees, ignoring the sting of the hardwood against her bare skin in her hurry to get her hands around his cock.
She pops the fastening on his pants, drags the zipper down, down, down until it meets the end of the fabric. The black of his boxers is revealed between the sides of the fabric, his cock underneath and begging to be released. With a stroke of her palm down the muscled inside of his thigh, he lifts his hips just enough for Feyre to be able to pull his pants down from his hips, just the slightest bit. Just enough for her to slip his boxer briefs down as well. Just enough so that his cock can be pulled free from the stark fabric.
Decorated in slightly blue veins that bulge obscenely as she places her hands on him, with the head of his cock just those few, key shades deeper than the rest of him. Long and thick and hard. “Stand up,” he says, a command in his voice that has Feyre straightening sickly enough that she gets whiplash, “and turn back around for me now, Darling. Let’s see this ass of yours, huh? You gonna bend over for me, let me see what your pussy does to your panties.”
Her back in a heavy arch, Feyre feels Rhys’ eyes as they stick to the ruined lace of her panties. To the damp spot that’s pretty much everything between her legs. She doesn’t feel the air around her shift, doesn’t feel Rhys’ hands on her until he’s already got thick fingers wrapped around her hips and tugging her backwards.
The creamy skin of her thighs meet the black of his suit, sliding against the material in all their softness. She falls into him heavily, very nearly crushing his cock between them. Heat radiates from her husband, her very own heater for the long, winter nights they love to spend in bed together: cuddled close, wrapped in blankets, fire blazing, curtains drawn.
A calloused palm wraps around her upper thigh easily, picking it up and placing it on the outside of his own thigh, handing over the thickly muscled area. His other hand does much the same, picking her thigh up and placing it down on the outside of her thigh. Using his own legs, he spreads Feyre’s. Pushing his knees apart, Feyre’s legs are forced to follow suit. She feels her legs stretch around Rhys’, feels everything just everywhere as she throws her head back and rests it between his shoulder and neck.
Quick fingers pull her panties to the side, revealing the pink of her pussy to anyone who might enter the room, all while his other hand focuses on moving his cock, placing at the apex of her thighs. With his cock resting against her, he runs a thumb widthways up her slit, testing her, feeling her, savouring her before he fucks her.
Long, elegant fingers grip his cock at the base, pushing it up and into Feyre. Her legs spread wide, her body sat up and her whole entire being corded with want, she feels so fucking tight at the head of his cock pushes into her. A whiny moan breaks free of her lips, arms lifting up above her head to come around her husband’s neck and bury themselves into the thicket of his hair. Tangle it, tease it, tousle it, ruin it. Make it obvious to anyone who sees them after that they just fucked. Really fucking well.
“That’s it, Darling, take my cock inside of you. Feel it stretch this tight, little, cunt of yours. Do you want, Feyre? You want more of my cock inside of you, you wanna burn as I fuck you?” His offers have her heating quicker than anything, the ways his words skitter over the shell of her ear, they way he murmurs them so only she could hear them, so that in a room full of people he’s so quiet that no one would have noticed.
“Mmm, yeah, want your cock in me. Wanna feel you— Ohhh, gods, Rhys! Fuck, oh my gods. You’re so big, filling me, so fucking good.” Her words are followed incoherent mumbles and screams and shouts and moans as Rhys fucks into her, thrusting and thrusting his sock into her. She’s so full of him, she’s stretched so far around him that she swears she can feel him in her lungs.
“That’s it, Feyre, taking it so fucking deep for me, aren’t you. Greedy for my cock, greedy for my come. You want me to come in this pussy, fill you up until you’re dripping around me.” His words serve no purpose but to get her hotter, but to get her screaming, but to get her coming viciously around him. Loudly, wildly, crazily.
Rhys wants her thrashing in his lap, legs trying to close around his as he forces her to keep them wide open, keep her crazy for him. His forearm comes across her breasts, anchoring her to his chest, while his other hand comes to rest on her pubic bone, thumb falling down to play with her clit.
In erratic movements, he’s still thrusting into her, filling her, stretching her, shattering her. “Rhys, gods, yes. Fuck, I want your come in me, fuckin come inside of… Me!” With a sharp scream after a harsh thrust from Rhys, Feyre comes. Her legs are desperate to close, straining constantly against the force of his thighs, against her restraints. Her shoulders rock back forth, causing her nipples to rub harshly against the rough material of Rhys’s suit jacket. Everything about her becomes beautiful, a sight to fucking see, the eighth wonder of the world.
All wild hair, closed eyes, shuddering breaths, thrumming pulse, parted lips, shaking shoulders, heaving chest, thighs that are positively shaking as her orgasm continues to wreak havoc on her body. She feels herself clench around his cock, feels herself as she rocks up and down and side to side and all around. Moving frantically on his cock, desperate for his come.
“Fuck, you want my come. You want me to come inside of you so hard you can’t fucking see straight that you can’t fucking think. You me to put a baby in you, make it so that no one out there doesn’t you belong to someone. Make you so fucking pretty with our baby, so no man ever touches you in fear. You want that, Darling?” His words are hardly audible, his breathing heavy, his chest a wild mess of concavity and convexity.
“Please, fuck, Rhys come inside of me please. Wanna be filled by your come, ugh.” Delirious, desperate, demonic. Flushed red and fucking begging. She’s everything Rhys could ever imagine and fuck, she’s right here.
With a hoarse groan, a final, vicious thrust, all while his thumb plays with her clit, Rhys comes. Feyre damn near flinches as his cock twitches and jumps inside of her, as she feels the heat of his paint her inside. She tightens and relaxes around him, milking his cock for all he’s worth. Rhys’s head is thrown back, his arms going lax around her, his legs weakening enough for Feyre to finally move her own.
In all his relaxed glory, Feyre watches him from the corner of her eye. His throat works thoroughly, Adam’s apple jumping up and down with each swallow. The patterns of lines around his parted lips, around his closed eyes, along his tight forehead had Feyre thinking of art, the varying lengths of his eyelashes have her thinking of running through wild fields wild in love. The curl in his hair has her thinking of waves crashing and rolling on a beach—the gold of his skin the sand.
Her husband is sprawled out, arms wide and legs crazy, neck like a noodle. He’s the fucking picture of bliss and relaxation and meditation and it’s all because he came inside of her, inside of his wife.
Feyre can no longer take staring at her husband out of the corner of her eye, resolving her annoyance by twisting on Rhys’ dick. With him still inside of her, Feyre twists around slowly until her chest is flush with the smooth material of his waistcoat, until her chin rests on the hard ridge of his collarbone.
“Love you, Rhysand. So, fucking much.” Her words are mumbled into the slightly stubbled skin under his shin, lining the expanse of his chin. She places chaste kisses all over, soft lips landing on coarse hair and sweaty skin. She kisses a trail around, to the underside of his jaw, to the point where it’s harsh lines corner and move up. At the soft skin there, she parts her lips and licks.
Taking in his citrus and sea scent, sucking and biting and licking and nibbling until the skin is red beneath her tongue and teeth marks are dug into his skin.
“Love you, my little Vampire. You gonna suck my blood after this, Darling?”
#feysand#feyre archeron#rhysand#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#acotar fic#my fic#my writing#feysand fic#my feysand#feysand smut#my smut#llyncooljones' writing
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FASHION CREDITS: “HOUSE OF GUCCI” PART III
The “House of Gucci” movie really is the gift that keeps on giving. Before we continue with the third part of our very Italian fashion series, make sure to check out the first and second chapter!
Patrizia came back to Milan, wearing this vintage Genny by Gianni Versace Fall/Winter 1989 black & white plaid buttoned jacket and lace pencil skirt sourced from OOTO LONDON.
Behind her, we can spot the Gucci Sylvie 1969 black patent crocodile leather mini top handle bag with gold-tone chain detail that Aldo gifted her.
The very demure look was finished with these Manolo Blahnik Tomiris black suede double strap pumps with flared heel.
For the funeral, Patrizia wore this beautiful custom Dominic Young black checkered jacquard dress with bateau neckline and box pleats.
A fascinator moment is always welcome to a funeral, so she went for this Lawliet black felt pillbox hat with bow and pompoms-adorned fishnet veil.
While Gaga’s matching baroque pearl necklace and bracelet set was vintage, her small pearl stud earrings were, believe it or not, by H&M.
A vintage Nina Ricci green & silver crystal bow brooch from Pikkio...
...a vintage Gucci black plissé satin purse...
...and Manolo Blahnik’s BB black suede stiletto pumps completed the look.
A second black look by Dominic Young follows up. This one features a tapestry jacquard print, box pleats and a tie neck! It was, again, paired with a bunch of Pikkio jewelry, Wolford tights and the aforementioned Manolo Blahnik pumps.
In the scene, laying on the table in front of her, was this vintage Gucci black leather flap bag with gold-tone hardware.
Patrizia finds Pina and gets her own tarot session while sporting a cropped version of this vintage Saint Laurent navy wool blazer adorned with large gold buttons its matching dress underneath. But it’s the accessories for me!
Firstly, she sported this Pikkio 1980s-inspired gold statement necklace...
...she paired with this graphic Boucheron Quatre Radiant Edition gold metal cuff bracelet!
LG also carried the Gucci Spring/Summer 2021 Jackie 1961 camel straw effect and blue leather medium shoulder bag with gold-tone hardware.
The look was completed with a pair of Louis Vuitton Pre-Fall 2014 blue patent pumps with bow embellishment.
In one of the deleted scenes, Patrizia is seen sporting this vintage Gucci turquoise suede short-sleeved blouson jacket with gold logo buttons. She matched it with a custom Dominic Young black leather pencil skirt with two faux pockets,...
...vintage gold earrings, statement hoops necklace, two large bracelets, a vintage Saint Laurent crocodile leather belt and vintage brown crocodile clutch - all from Pikkio!
"Our name, sweetie!"
In one of the most prominent scenes, Gaga is sporting this vintage Gucci monogram canvas tunic and matching pants set with brown leather trim and horseshoe chain details!
She threw on her vintage Laflamme mink coat on top!
When newly entering the penthouse, Gaga had on these vintage Oliver Peoples oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses with brown lenses.
Next, she’s rocking vintage gold jewelry and Paula Rowan's Aida vintage-inspired leather gloves in the swatch "Forest Green".
Patrizia also carries her Gucci Jackie 1961 monogram canvas medium shoulder hobo bag with buckle closure and green & red Web stripe.
Next, Patrizia attended an early Versace fashion show where she shined in this Fall/Winter 1995 Oroton sleeveless gold metal mesh bodysuit and matching draped mini skirt!
All of her jewelry comes from Bvlgari's archive! Here, she's wearing the heritage earrings from 1989 featuring amethysts, emeralds, citrines and diamonds.
A stunning heritage collar from 1991 - how very period-appropriate - set with lovely sugarloaf cut colored stones including amethysts, citrines, pink tourmalines, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds.
This truly fabulous piece of Italian design and craftsmanship was once famously owned by Princess Yasmin Aga Khan!
Two Tubogas gold bracelets with amethysts, rutilated quartzes and diamonds adorned Gaga's wrists!
Translating to "gas pipe" in Italian, tubogas is one of the many chain-making techniques that define Italian jewellery design. Indeed, gold chains are an intrinsic part of Italian jewelry tradition, where numerous styles are now considered timeless.
Her metallic gold leather gloves are the Montserrat by Paula Rowan. The leather is dyed, treated and stitched in Italy by the world’s top producers of leather gloves using traditional methods perfected over generations.
Here, she rocked a custom Dominic Young raspberry-colored blazer with contrast black crochet-covered lapels paired with a Luna di Seta silk top...
...vintage gold, rhinestone and red gripoix collar necklace and matching earrings set...
...a pair of the Paula Rowan’s Aida leather gloves in black...
...and these vintage Gucci black suede leather horsebit open-toe pumps.
Patrizia visited Paolo’s atelier, wearing this vintage Emanuel Ungaro “Parallele” line pink & black polka-dot ruched sheath dress with draped skirt and puff shoulders from Tirelli Costumi.
The loud 80s look was accessorized with Pikkio jewelry, this vintage Gucci logo leather belt…
…a vintage Gucci black leather shoulderbag with gold metal and wooden horsebit detail...
…and the Manolo Blahnik BB black leather pointed-toe stiletto heels.
Getting out of church, Patrizia wore this beautiful custom Dominic Young 80s-influenced purple printed wrap dress which she paired with a vintage unsigned brown mink stole trimmed with foxtails.
Her accessories included a the aforementioned Manolo Blahnik pumps, vintage gripoix jewel printed silk scarf in blue (similar pictured) from Annamode Costumes…
…this vintage unsigned gold and black enambel crystal snake brooch from Pikkio…
…Paula Rowan’s Aida vintage-inspired black suede leather gloves…
…and a vintage Gucci ostrich leather bag as you can see in this on-set photo!
#Genny#OOTO LONDON#Gucci#Manolo Blahnik#Dominic Young#Oliver Peoples#Lawliet#Nina Ricci#Pikkio#Boucheron#Laflamme#Paula Rowan#Versace#Bulgari#H&M#Emanuel Ungaro#Tirelli Costumi#Annamode Costumes#Luna di Seta#Louis Vuitton#YSL
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Venus Wisteria’s 10 casual outfits! They’ll be used in various fanarts and fanfictions, chosen randomly.
Plain crop top, duster shorts, faux suede boots
Celestial raglan crop top and fishnet tights, mini skirt, white combat boots, biker jacket, bisexual pride patch
Rainbow hoodie, lace-trim cami over colored crop tank, chain pants, sneaker heels
Tiered dress, patent gogo boots, pink rainbow necklace, sparkly loop bow headband
Celestial crop top, denim shorts, seashell sandals, silver crescent moon ring
Pumpkin knitted halter crop, mesh flared midi skirt, black platform booties, pumpkin socks
Short sleeve hoodie, green skinny jeans, celestial cami, Demonia boots, beaded barrette
Lolita puff sleeve dress, celestial sunhat, low-top sneakers, moon ruffle socks, moon hair barrette, brass knuckles necklace
Blue/purple flannel, “Spooky Babe” crop tee, skinny jeans, velvet mermaid scales combat boots
Goth emojis crop tank, high-waisted skinny jeans, studded wedge sneakers, sequin scrunchie, studded biker jacket
Which is your fave?
Consistent pieces:
Large black retro hoop earrings
Manga mascara
Smoky eyeshadow
Purple lipstick
Black matte nail polish
Black and silver crown wedding ring
Keep reading for sections with swim, sleep, and formal, and any other ideas! They will be updated!
Swim
Betsey Johnson Swan Lake bikini
Strappy one-piece, midi board shorts
Half-Moon bikini top, ruffled side-tie bikini bottoms, celestial sarong
Halter slightly cropped tankini, ruffled bottoms
Black and light turquoise bikini with white hearts
Black bat one-piece
Sleep
Turquoise/black striped babydoll, lace-up PINK shorts
Lace-trim cami, green gingham PINK ruffle shorts
Pink and black polka dot babydoll top, ruffled shorts
Hello Kitty™ polka dot babydoll top and striped pants
Lilac paisley velour long PJs
B/W striped cropped cami, Butch’s B/W striped boxers
Light pink heart print chemise
Black Moonbow short PJs
Black and blue floral chemise
Ariel RBTI PJs
Kuromi PJ shorts and tank top
Black Kuromi sleepover hoodie, pink Hello Kitty celestial capri pants
Turquoise moon/star shorts and tank
Formal
Sheer bodice dress, lace bralette, mermaid sequin booties and scrunchie
Pinstripe skirt suit, bow tie flats, turquoise blue sleeveless blouse
Light pink bodycon mini dress, stiletto ankle boots, lace-trim blazer, shears hairpin
Black lace-up asymmetrical mini dress (tulle underlay removed), stiletto gogo boots, celestial fishnet tights, silver moon and stars headband
Heart print 50′s-style dress, platform pumps, silver heart barrette
Halloween
Dark Angel
Burton Cheshire Cat
Mermaid Skeleton
Witch
Winter
Puffer jacket w/ faux-fur trim hood, high-waisted skinny jeans, cropped fuzzy sweater
Christmas
Navy/White festive sweater, emerald green skinny jeans, black Ugg™ boots, glitter poinsettia headband, white and black grommet belt
Black long-sleeve Santa-graphic velvet dress, “Creepy Lil’ Christmas” fairisle leggings, black platform booties, black and red plaid Santa hat
VS PINK red buffalo plaid thermals, tall black pom-pom slipper boots
Santa Mustache maternity shirt, green lace racerback bralette, green/red snowflake slipper socks, red buffalo plaid snowflake pajama pants, matching scrunchie
#Outfits#goth#gothic#venus wisteria#kinboshi fuji#pokemon#pokeani#anipoke#team rocket#pokemon oc#team rocket oc
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And another pair makes its way onto the blog – this time we are going devilish with some patent red peep toes covered in studs. I paired these up with some nude shine holdups so you can see what they are like paired up with hosiery instead of bare feet and legs.
The Spec
Colour: Red
Size: UK 5
Materials: Outer Material: Leather, Inner Material: Leather&Manmade, Sole: Gum Rubber
Price: £45.99
Website: Amazon – Caitlin Pan Womens Platform Stiletto High Heels Peep Toe Sandals Wedding Dress Pumps Court Shoes
The Review
From The Website: Caitlin Pan Is A Registered Brand , Our Own Factory.
Synchronized with the latest fashion trend,taking dedicated handmade craft work ，give you an attractive price.
Specialized in providing our customers with the latest women fashion shoes ( Boots, Pumps, Sandals, Flats, Slides, Mules, Heels ).SIZE 2UK to 13UK(35EU to 45EU) Are Available.
Leather upper and insole;Heel height 5.9 inches/15cm/150mm ,Platform measures approximately 3cm/30mm.
Size standard, please take your normal size,according to the Size Chart. Processing Time: 3 days.Shipping Time: 7 Business Days.
Outer Material: Leather
Inner Material: Leather&Manmade
Sole: Gum Rubber
Closure: Slip-On
Heel Height: 15 centimetres
Heel Type: Stiletto
Shoe Width: Normal
-Customization：Change the bottom color only (e.g red). If you need, NOTE your demands and order ID after placing order. Then you will receive the shoes you want.
Simple design,not very luxurious,but is definitily a elegant and gorgous one.The perfect shoe type plus comfortable heel brings a different experience to your life, suitable for parties, everyday life, work situations, taking you on the road to fashion.
The Packaging: these came in a sturdy box, wrapped in their own mesh bags to protect the patent and also with a strawberry scent sachet. I can’t say that it smells of anything really!
Getting Them On: these are super easy to slip your foot right in to. I will say I did try one shoe on bare foot and these are pretty tight, but with hosiery I managed to slip my feet in fine so this size is a bit of a gamble really!
On The Feet: well firstly I can say these are a snug fit on me, an that is with hosiery on so there is no way I could wear these bare foot! Although it’s not a bad thing as it means my feet will be secure in these all day!
The heel height is pretty high, especially with an additional platform on the front, so I would advise those who don’t wear heels often to practice before you buy! You’re talking over 5 inches of heel height here, and that can be super high for some so do bear that in mind! Otherwise enjoy like I did strutting your stuff around!
The colour is just gorgeous and a real statement piece, especially with the studs all around the shoes. Let me just add that the studs can hurt if you dig them into your thigh or leg for a short period of time, so watch out there!
My Thoughts?
Apart from the super snug fit, I really do love these and the way they look on. I know these would be a huge hit paired with black sheer hosiery, as well as nudes!
Nevertheless, these are a great pair with a real nice heel height to them as well! I would certainly recommend these!
Caitlin Pan Platform Peep Toe Court Shoes And another pair makes its way onto the blog - this time we are going devilish with some patent red peep toes covered in studs.
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Reel Hannibal 2018: Titanic
A project for the @reel-hannibal 2018 challenge.
@fannibalgrowingcircle @hanfangrahamk
Costumes by Hyperfashionist.
Photos by The Woman Clothed with the Sun (Bushra Qureshi) and The Woman Clothed with the Sun’s Mum (Saeedah Qureshi).
Photoshop and last-minute patience by Miss Katybee.
Much of the sewing, and all of the enabling, in this project is the work of the Hyperfashionmum, who made me what I am today from her own pattern.
I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart. I am inestimably lucky to know you.
Boarding suit: $$$ Based on the original by Deborah L. Scott. Jacket, shirt and tie by Tracie Arnold of Past and Present Creations. $$$ Skirt, Hyperfashionist. $$ Gloves, Chester Jefferies. $ Tights, H&M. $$ Shoes (not seen), New Look. $ Earrings, generic. $ Brooch, vintage. $ Umbrella, generic. $ Hat, unknown brand; $$ bow from a pattern by Wingeo. More details at sensibility.com.
Alana/Jack’s outfit: $ brown checked waistcoat and $$ brown corduroy trousers, Next. $borrowed Pinstriped shirt, Primark. $$ Boots (not seen), Timberland.
Tea dress: Based on the original by Deborah L. Scott. Hyperfashionist’s own pattern, sewn by Hyperfashionist and the Hyperfashionmum from $ swampy green polyester, $$ embroidered tulle and $$ Venise lace, with $ orange-red moiré belt trimmed with $ orange fabric rose. $ Necklace, unbranded.
Jump dress: $$$ Johanna Hehir circa 1999.
White tie: $$ tailcoat suit, unbranded vintage via eBay. $ Marcella shirt, Thomas Pink via eBay. $$ Mother-of-pearl shirt studs, unbranded via eBay. $$ Marcella waistcoat, 1950s vintage, Hogspear. $ Marcella waistcoat buttons, Clermont Direct. $ Marcella bow tie, Theak via eBay. $ Black patent stiletto pumps (not seen), M&S via thrift store.
Heart of the Ocean: $$ unbranded via eBay.
Margot’s Digestivo outfit: $ gold shirt, Miss Selfridge via eBay. $ Fire opal earrings, unbranded via eBay. $$ black skirt, Laura Ashley via eBay. $ Black patent stiletto pumps (not seen), M&S via thrift store.
Alana’s Digestivo outfit: $$ black wool pinstripe suit, Next via eBay. $ white shell top, New Look. $ Black patent stiletto pumps (not seen), M&S via thrift store.
Heaven Dress (just seen): Based on the original by Deborah L. Scott. $$$ completed by the Hyperfashionmum from an abandoned homemade wedding dress on eBay. $$ Earrings, necklaces, unbranded. $ Shoes (not seen), Anello & Davide via thrift store.
Hair: ringlets set with V05 gel and Babyliss Hot Sticks. Finger waves set with Elnett.
Makeup: loosely based on Tina Earnshaw’s original design as demonstrated in this tutorial. Lipstick is Maybelline 24h.
#Reel Hannibal#reel hannibal 2018#Hannibal#Titanic#cosplay#Deborah L. Scott#Margot Verger#Alana Bloom#rose dewitt bukater#Jack Dawson#sewing#pattern cutting#pattern design#fashion#costume#wardrobe#Johanna Hehir#Past & Present Creations#Wingeo
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: new Banfi Zambrelli ❁ Meadow Heeled Ankle Bootie Boots ❁ Black Leather 39 8.5 9.
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Megan Thee Stallion's look for the 2022 Grammy Awards is, in a word, wild. The rapper played with animal prints for the star-studded event on April 3 in Las Vegas, wearing a leopard patterned Roberto Cavalli dress with a clashing zebra print on the interior lining of the gown. The sexy silhouette consisted of a hip-high slit and one-shoulder neckline that was finished with a thick band of yellow gemstones. A single brooch at the top of her leg slit added to the sparkle and drew attention to her leggy moment as she posed for photos. Megan accessorized with snake-like earrings that nearly grazed the tips of her shoulders, armfuls of chunky gold bangles, plenty of bold rings, and strappy black patent leather Giuseppe Zanotti stiletto sandals.
Just a week ago, Megan attended the Oscars in a sculptural, blue ballgown by Gaurav Gupta. She later attended the Vanity Fair afterparty wearing a more minimal Mônot dress. Last year marked Megan's first time attending the Grammys, and she wore an orange Dolce & Gabbana gown. Megan picked up three awards at the 2021 Grammys, and tonight, her "Thot Shit" is nominated for best rap performance. See photos of Megan's fierce look ahead.
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https://www.prettylittlething.com/black-faux-leather-ankle-boot.html
Afternoon everyone and happy Sunday to you all I hope the weekend is treating you well. Todays post is a little later than anticipated but its here and its all about ankle boots! I basically live in boots for the majority of the year as I’m not really a runners kind of gal I just find that boots can make an everyday outfit look that bit more special and just add a certain something to it. As we are now in Winter boots are definitely more of an option now as they tend to just be that little bit warmer and wether you like flats, heels, plain or with a little something extra I hope I have enough here to cater for any preferences! I have gone mainly with black because it is the most popular colour and the colour I think people lean towards this time of year from what I have seen at work but I have included a few white pairs as they are still very in at the moment too!
https://www.prettylittlething.com/black-point-chelsea-western-boot-pu.html
https://www.stradivarius.com/ie/woman/shoes/shop-by-product/boots-and-ankle-boots/ankle-boots-with-metal-heel-piece-c1399019p300970108.html?colorId=040
https://www.asos.com/accessorize/accessorize-flat-leather-studded-trim-boot/prd/10068698?clr=03-black&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=3&gridrow=14&gridsize=4&pge=2&pgesize=72&totalstyles=672
https://www.asos.com/asos-design/asos-design-annie-silver-sequin-western-boots/prd/10516347?clr=silver-sequin&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=4&gridrow=8&gridsize=4&pge=1&pgesize=72&totalstyles=672
https://www.asos.com/asos-design/asos-design-ebele-pointed-ankle-boots/prd/9743635?clr=black&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=4&gridrow=8&gridsize=4&pge=2&pgesize=72&totalstyles=672
https://ie.boohoo.com/pointed-toe-block-heel-ankle-shoe-boots/DZZ26318.html
https://www.asos.com/accessorize/accessorize-leather-mid-heeled-ankle-boots-in-black/prd/10068744?clr=03-black&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=3&gridrow=14&gridsize=4&pge=4&pgesize=72&totalstyles=671
https://ie.boohoo.com/pointed-toe-metallic-trim-chelsea-boots/DZZ20451.html
https://www.asos.com/lost-ink/lost-ink-black-studded-heeled-ankle-boots/prd/10146417?clr=black&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=4&gridrow=3&gridsize=4&pge=6&pgesize=72&totalstyles=675
https://www.riverisland.ie/p/black-patent-pointed-block-heel-boots-720643
https://www.riverisland.ie/p/black-leather-western-ankle-boots-725373
https://www.missguided.eu/black-three-buckle-pointed-biker-boots-10106602
https://www.zalando.ie/faith-bud-cowboybiker-boots-fad11n01l-a11.html
https://www.asos.com/asos-design/asos-design-radius-suede-ankle-boots/prd/10061704?clr=green-suede&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=3&gridrow=15&gridsize=4&pge=3&pgesize=72&totalstyles=671
https://www.asos.com/asos-design/asos-design-atom-leather-chelsea-boots/prd/9764788?clr=white-leather&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=2&gridrow=4&gridsize=4&pge=4&pgesize=72&totalstyles=671
https://www.asos.com/asos-design/asos-design-reese-pointed-chelsea-boots/prd/10080554?clr=black&SearchQuery=&cid=6455&gridcolumn=2&gridrow=1&gridsize=4&pge=9&pgesize=72&totalstyles=675
https://www.riverisland.ie/p/black-pointed-block-heel-boots-721264
https://ie.boohoo.com/zip-side-block-heel-shoe-boots/DZZ03527.html
Obviously Black Friday was on last week and some stores are continuing their promotions until Monday so here are the brands from this post that still have promotions on!
Boohoo – 30% Off New Season Limited Time Only
Asos – 20% Off Everything Code Hello20
Missguided – Up to 70% Off Everything
Prettylittlething – Up to 60% Off Everything
River Island – 20% Off When You Spend €100 Or More
I personally love a bit of a heel on my boots just because I’m only 5.2 so I like having a little bit of height and I do wear boots to work a lot so I have definitely figured out what ones are practical for working or not! There are a few pairs here that are really similar to ones I own. I have a pair from a year or so ago from Boohoo that I wear to work majority of the time which are really similar to the patent black River Island pair that I have here which are just a nice plain heeled boot that just adds something extra to my outfits without having to put too much into a look but still look decent for work. There are a few pairs in here from ASOS as they just have really nice stuff in at the moment like the western style sequin pair which I think would be really cute for everyday to just add a pop of colour to a look or look nice for going out when you don’t want too much of a heel but still want a dressy style shoe. I have included three pairs of white boots as well as they are still trending at the moment but a lot of the ones I have seen are a kitten heel boot which are nice but I personally prefer more of a heel and for everyday a stiletto or kitten isn’t really practical so these three have a good blocked or flat heel for everyday use. Again the Boohoo pair are the same style and look as the two pairs I bought last year in black and patent silver so I can confirm they are comfortable and I have got good wear from them both!
I am on the hunt for a proper high stiletto going out boot as well as my favourite pair are starting to look like their glory days are wearing out so I definitely need to replace them! I am also looking for a good thigh high pair as well that (this sounds weird but its the only way to describe it) are more petite size as ones that I have tried are fine until the actual thigh where they just get that tiny bit too big so if anyone knows anywhere that do good tight ones then let me know! For now though I am going back to my Christmas shopping so hopefully this year I will be organised by the time Christmas week comes around!
Happy Sunday!
Ever Yours
Lily
xx
Everyday Boots : Essential Ankle Boots Afternoon everyone and happy Sunday to you all I hope the weekend is treating you well. Todays post is a little later than anticipated but its here and its all about ankle boots!
#Accessorize#ankle#ankleboot#ankleboots#ASOS#asosdesign#biker#bikerboots#blackboots#blackfriday#blackfridaydeals#blockheel#blog#blogger#bloggers#bloggerstyle#blogpost#Boohoo#boot#boots#bootstrend#brands#buckle#buckles#chelseaboots#codes#cowboy#cowboyboots#cowboystyle#cyberdeals
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