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toomuchracket · 9 months

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keep dreaming (d word matty smut)

(pre-relationship. mentions of unprotected sex. basically, matty's in his bed and he simply cannot stop thinking about you...)

in an ideal world, matty wouldn't be doing this.

in an ideal world, he would have staved off the nerves, gotten a grip, bit the bullet, and asked you to come home with him. part of him thinks he should've - it's not as if he hasn't done it before, with girls nowhere near as beautiful and girls he didn't like half as much as you.

but that's the point, he thinks, that's why he didn't. you're too special to him for your first intimate moment to be a post-awards show shag at his house. granted, he'd fucking worship you if it was, both in bed and then out of it, for every subsequent minute of his life... but he'd far rather take you on a few dates and spoil you first, before getting you into bed.

you... bed... fuck. despite himself, matty can't stop thinking about it.

or stop from gently stroking himself to said thoughts, caving further into that little voice in his head saying "imagine what it would feel like if it was her hand instead of yours" on loop.

god, he's sick for this. but he can't help it. after all, matty knows all too well what your right hand - the hand you use to write memos to him at work, and therefore the one you would surely use on him in bed - feels like, wrapped around a part of his body. less than an hour ago, it had grasped his wrist as you tugged him to the dancefloor at the afterparty, beaming warmly enough to melt his heart and redden his cheeks.

and then it had slid down his hand and twisted to grip the tips of his fingers, and matty was a goner. he mimics the motion now on his cock with a breathy whimper of your name, and repeats it - this time, slightly more softly, slightly more like you would. shit. you would look so good wanking him off, matty thinks, the edges of your nails ever so lightly scraping against him as you move; those nails that kickstarted this specific fantasy of you giving him a handjob, after you excitedly showed him their design when you first saw him earlier, a design based on the band's newest album, described by you as "look, matty, you're all over my hands". he had smiled at the adorable gesture and kissed your palm in gratitude, but his thoughts had gone somewhere far dirtier - literally - at your words.

he's jumping the gun with thinking about his cum all over your pretty nails now, though, so matty goes back to imagining your handjob position - he thinks of you lying on your stomach in front of him, looking up that way you do when he tells you something interesting: those beautiful eyes of yours all sparkly and focused and knee weakening-ly distracting, pretty lips curved and cheeks lifted into a bashful little smile.

those lips... always so soft-looking (and feeling, matty's sure, given he's a frequent witness to your habit of religiously applying lipbalm) and definitely kissable, but even more so tonight, lined and glossy. the colour looked shockingly perfect on you, and when he first saw you earlier he'd had to shove down a memory of a makeup artist for a shoot telling him that the perfect lipstick colour is the same as one's nipples before he started spiralling. now, though, in the solitary comfort of his own bed, matty lets his brain wind itself into imagining yours, spots of that lipstick shade on your perfect tits - accentuated incredibly tonight by the black silk of your cocktail dress, it has to be said - and imagining the way they would brush against him as you moved forward to wrap your lips around him, the same way you wrapped them around one of the bottles of expensive champagne given to the band's table after they won.

fuck. matty's wrist speeds up almost involuntarily at the thought of you sucking him off, while his other hand threads itself into the bedsheets the same way he knows he'd thread it into your hair, sliding the soft waves of tonight's hairstyle away from your beautiful face. he knows you would smile around him at that, the same little sweet smile you give matty whenever he appears with a coffee for you or offers you a cig or does anything requiring a bit of thankfulness, followed by a little "thank you" and a hum of contentment when you get what you wanted or needed. it makes him swoon at the best of times - it would surely ruin him if you did it with his cock in your mouth.

matty speeds up his movement again, imagining you humming and moaning happily as you slide your mouth up and down his length, whimpering when the tip hits the back of your throat. ignoring the inkling of guilt that appears in the back of his mind as he does, matty wonders just how deep you'd be able to take him. not that he'd ever force you to do anything you couldn't or didn't want to, and not that it would matter, because he knows if you actually were to suck him off he'd have to fight not to cum immediately, but he has a sneaking suspicion that you'd try to completely deepthroat him - he knows how stubborn you are, and he's sure he's not hallucinating the way you blush whenever he thanks you for going above and beyond to help him out.

and it's not like he'd dissuade you from trying; at the thought of you, teary-eyed but turned-on, inching slowly down his length to take it all, throat closing slightly around him, lips and nose pressed against his lower stomach, moaning, he bucks his hips up again almost involuntarily with a whine, beginning to properly fuck his fist the way he would fuck your mouth if you wanted him to. would you swallow, matty wonders, take every last drop of his cum down your aching throat and clean off the tip with little kitten licks? would he let you?

or would he stop fucking your mouth as he feels the orgasm start to build, so he can fuck you until you both cum instead?

god. what a thought that is, matty gently coaxing your head up from his cock and kissing you, before rolling you onto your back and just burying himself inside you. he fucks his fist the way he would you, mixing slow, controlled thrusts in amongst shorter, sharper ones to rile you up, before setting a strong rhythm with his hips that - hopefully - would have you screaming for him. he groans your name at the thought of that, wanking desperately now - not necessarily desperate to make himself cum, but desperate to see your eyes roll back in time with his hips, your jaw drop in pleasure, those fucking tits of yours bounce with every thrust; to feel your lips on his as you kiss him like you're trying to devour him, your hot breath in his open mouth as you moan his name into it, your long, gorgeous nails digging crescents into his back, your legs quivering around his waist as you reach breaking point, and - the thing matty's most desperate for - your cunt clenching around his cock, as he circles your clit and pulls an orgasm out from within your very bones.

matty's so fucking close now, hips jerking wildly into his hand, eyes heavy and clouded with pleasure, a cacophony of moans and groans and cries of your name leaving his lips and turning to incoherent dirty talk as they meet the cold air of the bedroom. "ohhhhh, fuck, m'gonna fucking cum, baby, shit, need to fuck you, mmmmmmmph, gonna cum, gonna fucking cum."

there is, however, one final thing for matty to consider about his fantasies of you before he reaches his orgasm - where would he cum, if he was with you right now? he could pull out, and let you either finish him off in your hand or mouth, coating your throat or covering your pretty nails like he briefly imagined earlier. or he could finish himself over you, decorate your beautiful face, your gorgeous tits, your soft stomach and your thighs.

truthfully, he'd let you choose - he'd just be grateful for the opportunity to even get to do anything with you in bed, and you'd look perfect in any of these scenarios (and in any scenario in general, really). but if matty got to pick, and you were okay with it, he wouldn't choose any of them.

what matty would do is stay buried inside you and fill you up with his cum, thrusting through his orgasm with his head buried in your neck, feeling you milk his cock for everything he has.

it's a delicious thought, and it's what tips him over the edge; with a final groan of your name and a "fuck!", matty cums all over his own hand, whimpering and lightly stroking himself until he stops pulsing out white fluid, which flows over his hand to pool on his lower stomach, reaching the very edge of his hip tattoo. in the aftershocks of orgasm, he can't help but imagine you cleaning it off with your tongue; with his free hand, matty reaches over to grab a pillow he can groan into to calm down before he finds himself cumming to the thought of you yet again. christ. he really is into you, isn't he?

matty doesn't move for a few minutes - the orgasm was so strong and took so much out of him that he just lies on his bed silently, until his breathing regulates and he comes back down to earth a bit. when the liquid on his stomach starts to feel icky, that's when he finally moves, swinging his legs onto the floor and walking to the bathroom to shower. he cleans his body just fine, but the grossness in his brain lingers a minute longer - he really just got off to imagining fucking you, his trusted friend and colleague, like some sort of depraved teenager. jesus christ.

if only he knew you'd just grinded yourself to an orgasm on your pillow thinking of the exact same thing.

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #smutty asks #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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miscling · 3 days

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Edgeslut Loop

‘So if I cum, the day resets.’

‘And everyone forgets?’

‘Everyone except me and the person who made me… but only if they know about my ability…’

‘That explains… so much, actually…’

You were popular, successful, and religiously into denial. If all it took to have another go was to have a wank and orgasm, then you could go back and try again…

‘I’m… This is why you wouldn’t let me make you cum? But… Wait…?’ a thought occurred to me, as I glanced at the clock. It was early in the day, nothing lost if I reacted badly and you had to start over. ‘Have you told me about this before?’

‘Once,’ you admitted. ‘It didn’t go well, it was… too soon.’

‘Thank you for being honest, but why now?’

‘There’s something I really want to try…’ you said.

The first step was easy: lock you in chastity for the rest of the day. No chance of backing out, no chance of changing your mind. No chance of you cumming and resetting the day so that I wouldn’t remember.

When we came back together that evening, the second step could be put into action. Your reset point was 8am, and if you started the day gagged, blindfolded, and in bondage…

Just before midnight, the fun began. I tied you down and let you sleep tied up, though neither of us slept particularly well for the excitement planned for the day ahead.

I woke up at 8am, and watched you, still asleep. It was perfect. Moving as quietly as I could, I reached for your magic wand. I’d start your day with a bang, literally. Did you really think I’d believe such a far-fetched story just like that? I pushed the wand into your sweet spot and put it on maximum.

It didn’t take you long to wake up, or much longer to realise what I was going to do. Your body thrashed, forcing me to hold you down with my other hand so I could pull the hardest orgasm out of you I could. You exploded with pleasure, shaking with the vibrator until you collapsed.

I blinked. ‘So when does it h–’

My eyes opened, 8am. ‘–appen?’ I sat up in bed. You were asleep, bound. ‘Huh! It works!’

My exclamation woke you up.

‘Okay, let me try again…’ I said, and made you cum again in five minutes. You tried to resist, but I didn’t let you win. On the next loop, I waited to see when you would wake up naturally. That became my target.

After that, I started stimulating you before you woke up again, seeing how long I could stimulate you for before you woke up. When you did, I made you cum and started over. For at least a week, you knew nothing but constant stimulation.

When that grew old, I started testing things. We didn’t reset if I ruined your orgasm, so I started seeing how many ruins I could get out of you in a day. I’m certain you would have killed me if you hadn’t been tied up, but you didn’t give the safeword signal.

You didn’t give the safeword signal for a month, and I kept going. I could take breaks, some days setting up a vibe on you and going for a walk, calling a friend, or trying every take-out place in the area. I considered taking off your gag for a day or two just to check in, but I figured your mind is probably utterly gone, all in the space of a single endlessly looping day.

So I kept going. It has been… about a year now. I am still finding new ways to torment you, and like you asked, I'm not letting you go until 8am tomorrow.

Now, time for your next orgasm…

~~~

Inspired by this ask from @themiracleengine to write a smut story based in a time-loop.

Reblog if you enjoyed this story, and check out my others under the Miscling Writes tag!

#miscling writes #edgeslut #timeloop smut #fantasy smut

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gurugirl · 1 year

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In the Beginning | Prequel to Forgive Me, Father

Summary: This prequel details Harry's slow sexual awakening up until he meets Y/n.

A/n: Just a little something extra - much of what is here was pulled from the original story when I felt it was getting too long but I was told I should have left it in - so here it is! 4k words

Warning: Religious themes, sub/dom dynamics, smut, blasphemy, cheating

| Read on Wattpad | Priestrry Masterlist |

The story of Harry’s awakening is something he thinks of fondly now that he allows himself to enjoy his sexual appetite. Especially now that he’s found his pet. The guilt that surrounded his sexuality and his preferences at the beginning was something he gradually learned to embrace.

When he was a boy, he attended Manchester Grammar, a large, all-boys school where Harry was always one of the top of the class and played multiple sports. Harry had always learned to do things the right way and how to be one of the best, if not the best.

Harry's Father was a churchwarden and would often welcome in the new parish priest, offering dinners and taking care of things to make the job easier on the priest. Harry would tag along at times, with his father, and over the years he became quite enamored with the life of priests and the catholic church. His mother never worked, but she supported Harry's father and took care of Harry and his older sister.

The Styles were very much involved in church life. It was what Harry knew during his youth. When he graduated from Manchester Grammar, he knew he wanted to train to be a priest. He went to an all men's religious college and during his second year, he started attending seminary when he settled on the path of his love for religious studies and the priesthood.

In his third year at college, he got his first tattoo. It was easily hidden. It wasn’t strictly forbidden to have tattoos as a priest (though very uncouth and quite rare), which is why he chanced getting one in the first place. But even then, he still didn’t want many knowing he had one. However, one led to another. And then another. The more tattoos he got the more he wanted. It became easy to hide them as no one would ever be seeing much of him without clothes anyway. He enjoyed the little secret and the way it felt when the needle punctured his flesh and pushed ink into the dermis, staining him with a covert story that only he knew about. It was also his first experience in finding satisfaction with pain.

During his final year in college, before he graduated to begin taking theology, he met a young man named Darren. Darren was in Harry's group of friends and it was the first time that Harry realized he was attracted to men. Darren had something about him that opened Harry's eyes and he had been able to ignore his attraction until he awoke in the middle of the night from a dream about Darren.

Harry had a roommate in the college dorm but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his fist around his cock and finishing himself off to the image of Darren's mouth on him. In Harry's dream, he had his fingers in Darren's hair and was pushing and pulling Darren over his dick, up and down, forcefully.

The guilt Harry felt about masturbating in general was bad enough. He'd been taught by his mother (when she caught Harry wanking at the age of 14) that it was sinful and could invite Satan into their home and into his heart. So Harry rarely ever let his sin or his lust take over in a way that led him to masturbate.

But the guilt he felt when he masturbated to the image of Darren, a man, was almost unbearable. Harry cut off contact with his friend completely after that because he knew he couldn't control himself. Harry never let himself be put into a position where he'd act on his carnal feelings. And Darren was someone he lusted after so he did what he needed to do to completely suppress his feelings.

When he studied Theology and philosophy after graduating from seminary he was also training as a deacon in a church and met a young woman called Ally. She was so sweet and bright and thoughtful. And she always blushed and looked away from Harry every time they spoke. There was something so gentle and meek about her. She was shy but she was quick to help and assist when needed. Harry found her personality appealing.

Harry began fantasizing about bossing her around a little. It started, maybe not entirely innocently but not in such a way that Harry recognized his fantasies as sexual at first.

He'd imagine telling her to turn the page on his Bible while he read aloud so he could keep his hands clasped together. Or have her pull his chair out for him and wait by his side for further instructions. He'd wonder what it would be like to have her on her knees next to him and praying to God while Harry critiqued her prayer.

Slowly his fantasies became more sinful and he imagined her doing these things with less clothing until he imagined her naked and crawling to him, begging him for tasks. Every time he saw her he found her more and more appealing. She was cute, certainly. But Harry was always doing his best not to look too closely.

But Harry did recognize the dreams he'd have that began regularly when he became the transitional deacon on his way to becoming a priest. Lusty, sinful, sexy... Harry hated waking up with a hard-on and he didn't always take care of himself. He was able to push his desires down and it only made him feel stronger and more pious.

On an evening after late Sunday mass, most people had left the church but Ally stayed behind to help clean up when she didn't need to. Harry couldn't help himself when he told her to adjust her ponytail as it was falling from the band, "Straighten that up a bit. You look messy." Harry watched her take the hairband from her hair and then smooth her hair out before putting her hair back into a tighter ponytail while she looked at him, "Like that?" She asked with big innocent eyes.

Harry excused himself to go to the men's room after that. He couldn't help himself. She'd only readjusted her ponytail but the fact that she'd done it at his command and while looking at him like she had he nearly lost it.

After relieving his dick and praying for forgiveness he went back to Ally and told her she was done for the day. Ally left with no remarks or questions, just nodding and smiling shyly. That was even a turn-on for Harry and he didn't know why.

On another occasion, Ally was next to him during a luncheon. Everyone was in line to pick up a plate and she smelled so pretty.

Harry asked her if she was wearing perfume and she told him she was. Harry watched her plate some potatoes for herself and then before she could scoop up anything else Harry took her plate from her, "Plate mine."

Ally looked up at him as Harry gave her his plate and he held hers. She looked confused but she did as he demanded. He told her what he wanted on his plate and she listened to him as she filled it. When they got to the end of the line, Harry gave her her plate back, with only the potatoes as she handed him his, "You shouldn't wear such strong perfume at church. Now get back in line to get your food."

He didn't know why he'd done that either. It just felt natural. He didn't know why he wanted to punish her for wearing such pretty perfume, but she didn't make a peep about it, going to the back of the line and then being one of the last to eat.

But with each new thing Harry discovered about himself, he would also dream about doing such things to her, or someone unknown. But in his dreams, things were more sinful. Quite a bit more sinful. Many he'd wake up from having the most shameful feelings in his heart. Dreams of tying someone to his bed and playing with them, leaving them and having them still there for him after coming back from a long day of school and work.

One morning, when Harry was at church Ally came by, unexpectedly. She sought Harry and confronted him, "Why do you demand things of me? Have I done something wrong?" She'd grown tired of the way Harry would treat her. He wasn't mean, but he was bossy and he certainly wasn't nice either. He was surprised that she’d found the gall to ask him.

Harry didn't know how to answer her. She looked so soft on the morning she arrived to speak to him and he wished he could understand it himself. When he was tempted to lean down to kiss her he realized he needed to keep his distance from her once and for all. She was too tempting and too sweet. She'd only continue to do what he wanted and he didn't know how far he would push it, because, in his dreams, he was taking her virginity (which also meant he was losing his own virginity) in a rather filthy way.

From then on he avoided Ally, even though he caught her often looking at him with her big innocent eyes and a pout on her face.

His dreams continued to get nastier. He dreamt of men and woman and spankings, floggings... He began to flog himself as well as a way to receive penance. But he learned after a handful of self-floggings that he liked it. He'd even get an erection from it. He thought he was damaged or perhaps the few times he had masturbated did invite Satan into his heart and so he was suffering from the sin of being possessed.

When he met with his elders and leaders to get council about his dreams (he didn't go into detail because he would have surely not been allowed to continue his path) they only told him it was normal to have lustful dreams but that he must resist the temptation to act them out while he was awake.

So Harry did just that. He'd wake from disgusting and depraved dreams, wet in his underpants from coming (he didn't even need to have his hand around his cock he was so horny from all the denied orgasms) and he'd ask forgiveness and put it out of his mind.

When he moved to Wisconsin to his first true priest's parish, he continued to keep his urges a secret. He pushed them down, flogged himself regularly, and prayed to God to deliver him from his own carnal thoughts.

He recognized it when he saw attractive men and women but his guilt always did him in at the end of the day. Floggings became a pleasure and replaced masturbation for him. He didn't need to have an orgasm to feel relief. He would strike his back and let the leather cut into his skin and it redirected him, but he always got an erection from it. There were times Harry considered leaving the priesthood so he could finally know what it was like to carry out his fantasies.

The day Mrs. Brockton invited him for dinner he was having a rough day. He'd woken up with his cock drained of his come after the lewdest dreams so he flogged himself to ask forgiveness and his cuts went deeper than normal, causing tears to leak from his eyes from the pain. But it didn't stop his dick from hardening up. But, being the good and holy man that he was, he ignored his lust and didn't touch his plumped penis for relief of any kind. He ached to have his balls emptied again, but he felt powerful knowing how he could still deny his flesh.

So, when Mrs. Brockton revealed they were alone, Harry knew he should leave. He knew Mrs. Brockton found him attractive, he could tell by the way she flirted. And Harry noticed it because he found Mrs. Brockton very attractive. She was ten years older than him with no children, but she was married. And she was gorgeous with big lips and big tits and a nice round ass Harry tried to not imagine spanking.

That day, in particular, had been difficult for Harry so he grew hard in his pants at just the touch of her hand on his knee. It was embarrassing.

But he needed to take care of his problem before she knew what was happening and when she found him in the bathroom pumping himself and on the verge of coming, she took him down her throat, and it was as if Harry wasn't even the one making the decisions. The very second she fell to her knees in front of him he turned into a man who wasn't a priest, but a man with a need and a desire that was so strong it could no longer be ignored.

He pressed her head down over him as she bobbed on his cock and she looked up at him with a bit of surprise when he forced her down and she gagged. He released her quickly and tried to apologize but she just smiled and went back to work to finish him off and it was the first time Harry had ever felt anything like it. To come at the hands of another.

He left quickly after with apologies and shame. The guilt that struck him was nearly enough to make him fly back to London and leave the priesthood for good. He cried to God and didn't allow himself to sleep in his bed or eat for three days.

He tried to avoid Mrs. Brockton but the following week she came to him in the confessional and he knew it was her when she uttered her first word. He would never forget her voice or her perfume.

"I've sinned, Father. I've cheated on my husband. Took an attractive younger man's penis into my mouth and swallowed his seed down. And the worst part is how much I enjoyed it and how much I wish it could happen again."

He listened to her describe the blowjob and his breathing deepened. He became angry but he was horny too.

"Enough. Stop it. You've been very bad and you've tricked a young man into sinning. You are like Eve in the Garden of Eden. A temptress and a sinner."

Mrs. Brockton stayed quiet as Harry's demeanor changed from his usual kind and warm manner to something darker and dominating.

Harry's mouth was nearly watering at the lustful things he was thinking and his dick was hard. God if only he could have controlled that side of himself at that moment. He continued, "You will need to pray on your knees to God for your salvation and for the young man who you've tempted and tricked. Right now."

It happened so fast. Harry was unlocking the little hook to the door and pulling Mrs. Brockton into his side of the box. He pushed her down and made her pray in between his legs (the little confessional box was a tight fit so Harry had to open his legs up to allow Mrs. Brockton space to get on her knees). She pressed her hands together and began praying as Harry took his penis out and wrapped his hand around himself, pumping his cock as she kept her head down.

When she began to repeat a prayer of forgiveness Harry yanked her by her hair and brought her mouth to the crown of his cock, "Keep praying," he said as he pushed her down onto him and threw his head back. She licked and sucked as Harry kept his hands in her hair to control her pace.

Before he could come she shoved at him and gasped when his dick was pulled out of her throat, "Father Harry, please..." she said as she stood and lifted her skirt and climbed into his lap. She took his hand and brought it down to her panties, "Feel this. Have you ever felt a woman when she's wet before? Wet from lust?"

Harry was speechless. He let Mrs. Brockton guide his fingers under her panties and feel her pubic hair and her wet crease. She moved his hand up and down so he could really feel it and he let out a small gasp when she brought his hand up to her mouth and sucked on his finger.

"Would you like to feel it on your big cock?" She said as she rubbed his foreskin and squeezed his shaft in her palm.

Harry shook his head no so she began to move off his lap at his answer, but he grasped her hips and held her still so she couldn't move off of him. He closed his eyes as he pulled her up to him and she rubbed herself on him. He felt her hair meet his shaft and then the wetness it left behind. Harry grasped onto her bottom and pushed her in closer and he let out the smallest whimper.

Harry was fighting with himself. An internal battle that had begun years ago, and now, it would be so easy to let it just happen. But the guilt was not as strong as the lust and the need he had at that moment.

"May I Father?" She said as she brushed her mouth on his and lifted herself upward. He didn't respond so she only brushed his tip into her folds and placed him at her entrance, never sinking down onto him but letting him feel his crown at her wet hole, "All you have to do is push it in, that's my opening and it's wet and warm, and ready for you."

He had been so close but he pushed her off at the last second. He was not the same after that.

In fact, the next time they saw one another it was Harry who went to her. He'd gotten condoms (he stole them actually, as the person at the register knew who he was and he couldn't get caught with condoms - just another thing to add to his list of sins) because he had planned for it this time. He couldn't deny it any longer and he knew Mrs. Brockton was willing and wouldn't say a word. Mr. Brockton had left town and when Harry showed up at her door she smiled and knew why he was there.

She sucked him off first and he came in under two minutes. Then she laid herself out on her bed and spread her legs for him and walked him through cunnilingus, “I’ll show you how to eat, Harry.” Harry was eager and horny and he was good. He didn't make her come the first time, but he got her nice and wet, and then she showed him how to put the condom on.

The moment he sunk his cock inside of Mrs. Brockton he coughed out a moan and his heart pounded out of his chest.

She praised him as he pushed in and pulled out, slowly then a little harder and a little faster. She complimented his big dick and moaned his name loudly. She encouraged him to look down at where they were connected and when he did he came into his condom with a groan.

But their affair didn't stop there. Harry visited Mrs. Brockton often and she knew where to find him as well. When he learned to control his orgasm, to hold out longer he became even kinkier, reliving all of his dreams and fantasies. Mrs. Brockton encouraged him to put his hand around her throat in his rectory when he fucked her against his desk.

The first time he spanked her she was surprised because he'd done it without being prompted. She liked it. So did he.

They maintained a quiet affair for about six months. Harry wavered between hating himself and loving his new self.

On an evening when Harry was very needy and horny Mrs. Brockton couldn't see him because her husband was home. That was the first time Harry began researching where he could go for sex without it being a proustite situation. There were clubs in Milwaukee and Chicago and even Kenosha, Wisconsin. His research led him to a sex club in Chicago where he found many willing participants. Chicago was nearly two and a half hours away but the club was discreet and far enough away that he felt like he'd never run into anyone that went to his church.

It was at the club that he learned he was dominant and preferred his partners to be submissive. He learned a lot from Mrs. Brockton, but in the years following their affair, he learned even more by going to the club and meeting people.

Occasionally he'd bring them back with him. He'd tell them his situation, that he was a priest, and some really liked that. Others wouldn't touch it. But the ones who liked it and still wanted him only gave him more confidence to do what his worldly self desired.

The longer he could keep someone around (which was never very long because most had jobs and lives to get back to) the easier it became for him to forgive himself.

And the more he forgave himself, the more he enjoyed himself. He realized he had very little resistance when it came to people wanting to fuck him. He learned he was very appealing and attractive to most which fed his ego.

He would go through short periods of fasting from sex and his desires, but each time he went back into it, he got deeper into the things he enjoyed. He bought a cage and a bar with cuffs that hung in his room. People liked when he punished them. Harry liked to punish people and tell them what to do.

One young man, Arthur, he kept for much longer than the others. Arthur didn't need to work because he was born into money. And Arthur was very pretty and submissive. He connected well with him, but every now and then, Arthur would do something that Harry just didn't like. So he would punish Arthur but he never seemed to learn. Harry didn't mind the occasional brat, but Arthur was a brat more often than not. In fact, one time, Harry had a small group over as he normally did on Sunday afternoons and occasionally during the week for prayer. Arthur was tied up and gagged and placed in the cage during the hour-long meeting. But Arthur thought it might be funny to make a little noise in hopes of getting a really bad punishment.

Harry knew Arthur would get risky sometimes so tying him up and gagging him was necessary when he had guests.

But Arthur was able to push his elbow against the back wall of the cage, making a muted thudding noise.

The guests could all hear it and one of them asked what the noise was. Harry was hoping they wouldn't notice it.

He made up a quick lie about a water pipe that began knocking, which would be fixed soon.

The moment his guests left, Harry stormed into his bedroom, untied Arthur, and drove him to the train station to go back to Winnetka where he lived. He explained that it just wasn't working.

Arthur was quite upset, but so was Harry. Harry really did like him a lot. They got along well and the sex was better than he'd ever had so it was very disappointing that it didn't work.

But then, he met Y/n. Harry had gotten pretty good at recognizing when someone was naturally submissive. He saw her in the congregation and felt something immediately. He wasn't sure until he learned more about her and got to know her, but he had not been disappointed at all. Y/n turned out to be exactly what he'd been searching for.

And Harry was exactly what Y/n needed just the same.

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#firstpost #harry styles smut #priestrry #priest!harry #forgive me father #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #soft dom!harry #sub dom

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void-tiger · 1 year

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…oh for.

God doesn’t have a gender, or if you want to be literal, God is genderfluid. The angels are agender and genderfluid. There’s a lot I have gripes with in the bible, especially with how Literal To An English Translation, To Heck With Trying To Remembering Jewish Culture And Jewish History with how Murican Protestants insist on using it, but God’s Gender (or, lack thereof) isn’t one of them. Actually sometimes that’s where I can find SOME comfort.

Oh and you’re gonna bring up a transgender shooter, but NEVER EVER the multitude of WHITE CIS GENDERED HETEROSEXUAL MALE SHOOTERS? Shut up. I suppose I should be “grateful” it hasn’t been “a talking point” before we had a member’s southern retired pastor father giving the sermon…

[tries to not walk out during the sermon but it is a close call. hell I even have an out with my health today so.]

#tiger’s roar #religious wank #tw christianity #tw transphobia #tw religion #tw religious abuse #tw gun violence

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xxlovelynovaxx · 3 months

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Honestly, I hate the term "puriteen".

There's a post that keeps going around from a religious trauma survivor about how they are in favor of calling fandom wank "purity culture", but also in favor of the word "puriteen", and I don't know how to tell you this, but you've fallen for basic generation gap type propaganda and more than that, for ageism.

Like, there are whole ass articles challenging the idea that it's all young people spreading purity culture bullshit. Even potentially a study, iirc, though I can't currently find it so take that with a grain of salt.

At least in the US, kids nationwide are challenging book bans, fighting the racism and queermisia that are in part driving them, and saying basically "hey, y'all adults know we can tell the difference between fiction and reality, and that we don't think bad stuff is okay just because it happens in fiction but that also doesn't make the fiction bad, right?"

Like, have you examined your own harmful biases? Because yeah, there are some young people who have some of the worst, absolutely christofascist-informed ideas about fiction. There's also plenty of older people, 30, 40, 50 year olds and older, saying this shit. But, get this, only discourse skews young because internet usage skews young. Have you bothered to look at how many young people actually agree with you? With how many MORE of them are on your side than not?

Have you bothered to look at just how many older people, online and offline, hold these ideas? At the ages of the dozen people actually driving most book bans across the country? At how it's moms for liberty and similar organizations doing the harm? About how saying it's "for the kids" doesn't mean it's "by the kids"?

At how book bannings targeting children are actually yet another form that oppression of youth takes?

Like, this is not some statistical trend you can point to. Blaming kids is entirely based on anecdata - and it's blaming them for something that negatively affects them first and hardest.

You saw a couple of teens who had arguably been groomed into a dangerous puritan ideology by adults who may have also sexually harassed them (especially by distributing both fictional nsfw materials and sometimes even actual genuine CSEM) and decided that this is something related to their age and not, y'know, their status as a vulnerable marginalized class, nevermind something that is nowhere near universal.

You ignored the majority of actual minors saying "yeah no they don't speak for us" in favor of the idea that teens are irrational and basically "stupid" until they reach a certain age, as if this is related to age at all. You ignored the many people your own age and older doing this shit. You ignored how it wasn't even your own age that informed your own opinions, except perhaps to the extent that having what media you could access severely restricted as a child may have limited your ability to form opinions on the media you couldn't access.

I grew up in a culturally christian agnostic household. My trauma is only religious-adjacent, but it was informed by the same kind of purity culture driven by christofascism.

I didn't learn what sex was until 8th grade health class. I wasn't allowed to read books with sexual material in them until well into high school, and even then was discouraged from doing so if it didn't "contribute to the plot". I was shamed for masturbating as an adult living at home (because my mother refused to knock or let me get a door that locked), was told people into BDSM are dangerous, and routinely had my main kink that my mom knew about (piss) treated as essentially a dangerous and harmful mental illness.

My mother repeatedly encouraged me to come to her to discuss anything sexual growing up, and praised me and told me other kids would have hidden it from their parents and she was glad I was such a good kid who didn't keep secrets, and then used it all against me. She tried, pretty hard, to indoctrinate me into purity culture, and yet from the moment I was actually allowed access to social media at 18 and could seek out different viewpoints, I started to realize how very bullshit that all was.

It took a little bit of extra time to interrogate ideas surrounding kinks like cgl, abdl, and general nsfw agere, just because I saw anti-kink messaging around those first, but funny enough the very first counterargument I actually saw convinced me of how bs the anti-kink stuff was with that too.

Like, I don't know how else to explain that a small minority of kids being indoctrinated by a high-control group is not in fact indicative of what most kids believe or that age is a factor in an ideology held as much if not more by adults than kids. And that for the few that are being recruited into these groups in which there is no accountability and concrete evidence of actual predators growing unchallenged, perhaps a sneering insult and blame is not in fact the way to treat people who are more victims of purity culture than you will ever be.

(Also, do you care more about being "right", or effective praxis? Because even in the case of true malicious actors, you should in fact care about not reinforcing the control of the abusive group that meets many criteria of the bite model by proving that said group are the "only" safe people who "respect" them, and that everyone else will insult them for their immutable identity. It's the same reason you don't mistreat the mormons and Jehovah's witnesses that knock on your door, because you are literally doing the cult's work for them if you do.)

You should also care about interrogating your own ageism instead of going "no, that's not bigoted because children are really like that!!1". Fun fact, that's just as bigoted as if the word "children" was replaced with any other marginalized group. Your own ignorance and biases about children being irrational and unintelligent are not actually the "facts" you think they are.

The word "puriteen" is as useless as it is inaccurate. Most kids aren't actually for purity culture. Plenty of adults are for it. Acting like this is about age because of some bullshit pseudoscience about "brains that aren't fully developed" (brains never stop developing and the cut-off of 25 that's often cited and more often internalized was based on a study that didn't actually examine people OVER 25) or because kids are all "irrational" and "unable to think critically" and just "like that" shows me you've never once actually spoken to the vast majority of kids.

I have trauma from purity culture that's heavily adjacent to religious trauma, and we should retire "puriteen" forever.

Bigotry is never justified. Not to fight purity culture, not to fight other bigotry. If you are handwaving this as hysterical or ridiculous or over-the-top accusations, or that they prove you right about teens:

1. You're part of the problem. Convincing people that a marginalized group and their allies' accusations of bigotry are bullshit or crazy or overblown is foundational to the perpetuity of the marginalized group's oppression.

2. If you need to hear it from an ally and not a kid, I'm turning 27 next month.

3. Not wanting to examine your own discomfort around being called out for your bigotry and the ways you justify it, is a you problem.

If you are marginalized yourself in any way, unless you are somehow privileged enough that you've never experienced this, you should know EXACTLY how shitty it feels to call out bigotry and have people (who are often not marginalized in that way) laugh in your face and call you insane for daring to suggest they could be bigoted by doing [actively and glaringly bigoted thing].

If you've never had this happen, because you've only called out types of bigotry that most people recognize as such to people willing to listen, you may also need to examine your own internalized bigotry against your own identity. You may have done this to people in your own community who were brave enough to call out forms of bigotry that are less recognized and whose accusations were more ridiculed. You may be accepting mistreatment of yourself and your community because you're too scared of backlash to call it out, or even think you deserve it, and that's... not good.

#discourse #youth liberation #ageism #childism #adultism #fandom wank #shipcourse

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