bakerstreet | The (Reverse) Smut Picture Prompt Meme

Smelling of asphodel, Theresia the Harvester has come to deliver a soul into his care, one she could have left with Cerberus who loves the opportunity to snatch a new chew toy.

Here to pay an annual debt owed by her father, Death, her ghostly true form has been set aside for the form she once held. Death has stepped away, and Theresia fulfills his duties and responsibilities during his absence. According to past records, Hades has assigned a task that takes from sundown to sunup to accomplish. Wishes her father was more specific.

Green eyes boldly meet the god's own as she waits to hear what he requires.

It isn't often these days that Hades bothers with the old pomp and circumstance of his office, but when receiving the annual tribute from such an ancient and fearsome (even to a god) entity as Death, all the details are attended to with care and precision. The appearance of what looks like a beautiful young woman does not phase the Lord of the Underworld. Death had some time ago sent his regrets and the news that he would be sending a special envoy to pay the debt this year.

"Greetings, Theresia, and gratitude for this soul." At a wave of Hades' hand, the soul-- still in its familiar human form, as the newly departed are wont to do-- vanishes and reappears near him on the dais.

"You know that your father pays tribute once a year, and now you will learn what form that takes. As you know, it is the height of the green seasons in the world above, which means I am without my Queen. Long ago, I struck a bargain with Death that at this time, he would bring me a very special soul to serve and service me for a night, completely and totally at my will."

Hades leaned forward. His own form was a youthful, handsome man, but one with great depths of darkness and sorrow in his eyes.

"This year, you will be that tribute."

Neither good nor evil, neither one side of the coin nor the other, Theresia is the narrow third side between the two, a perfect balance of gray. Other Reapers are closer to one edge or the other, but Death's daughter would split the coin in half.

Eyes narrowed as the true nature of the obligation is revealed, but there is no step backwards and hands loose at her sides do not twitch to grasp Death's hand scythe, and sign of office, at her hip. The only reason she can guess that Death would give such acknowledgement of esteem is in the interest of peace, especially with the new gods vying for power. They will have something to talk about when her father is released from his chains. Is this a crude attempt at match making or a lesson that she should not trust him either?

"I will examine the contract," contralto tone steady, polite yet slightly deferential even as her words are firm, "In my capacity as the holder of the office of Death," not as said sacrifice. Had never entered the gates herself and now her hands were cold at her father's perfidy. Head tilting slightly, a motion that could be taken as respect, "Please."

Hades has become accustomed to all manner of attitudes from those brought before his throne, from the fury of those who believed themselves unjustly taken from the mortal world, to the anguish of others. Some try to plead, to beg, to threaten, to bribe... humans fear the afterlife so greatly they are willing, even as spirits, to do anything to avoid it.

Theresia, however, shows the utmost respect and wisdom and that, he notes, is greatly in her favor.

"Of course. I have every confidence you will find everything there in perfect order. You will recognize your father's signature... and the blood of us both used to seal the pact."

A robed servant glides forward toward the reaper, drawing a scroll from beneath the folds of its garment and unrolling it for her perusal.

A touch to the parchment identifies it as human skin, the taste of the power inlaid in the signatures is sampled next. Knows the taste of Death but the taste of Hades is interesting and new. Through lowered lashes, extending her senses she confirms that this is indeed him. That taste of the imbued power in the writing tells her a little of the god before her.

The terms, conditions, and definitions are reviewed, all surprisingly straightforward and detailed, nothing hidden or games played. And yes, as she supposed, it is a treaty, debts on both sides. Interesting the side her father chooses for the time being, noting the future optional renewal dates.

"Thank you for your courtesy and consideration," the scroll, chilled under her touch, is returned.

Eyes rising, Theresia does not struggle in the trap she has unwitting stepped into and instead accepts with grace. Acquiescing, the scythe vanishes from her hip, yielding her position in this dance to that of an offering. Next year she would have to arrange for other... Would she? Unless a soul was willing, she would not force, just as she does not when convincing a soul to leave the realm of the living. A narrow path with little room to step around obstacles.

Hades waits patiently while the reaper examines his bona fides. The treaty between himself and Death has been in place since Hades first became Lord of the Underworld after he and his brothers deposed the Titans. Considering the closeness of their domains-- and Hades' unwillingness to be at odds with such an entity as Death himself-- it was a wise move and has proven to be mutually beneficial over the eons.

When it's clear that Theresia has read and accepted her part in the proceedings, Hades stands and dismisses the court. "Please follow me," he invites, leading the reaper through the wide, gray and black marble corridors of his palace. Soon, they enter the rooms that make up Hades' private chambers. Although well-appointed, there is a somberness in the air, along with a vase of wilted flowers that indicates Hades' queen is not in residence.

Next to the vase is a large timepiece. Hades watches for a few scant seconds as one of the hands sweeps past the image of a setting sun. "And the night begins," he says, turning to Theresia, "as does your service. I should hope you will not find this night too displeasing. Disrobe."

Clothing is nothing but imagery, just as her shape is fluid, letting the viewer, usually a human, see what they wanted to. Not that she could trick a god, just as she could see through the same illusions, but it was unlikely he would want a less than substantial form this evening. The leather of her jacket creaks as her head tilts, a shoulder rises and with the release, that part of the illusion is dropped. Fair skin kissed by the sun, but not darkened to brown, long limbs rounded and well formed by labor in the fields. Her once body reflects growing up human and her perception of herself at that time. Hair is not pulled to cover or hide her form.

No blush at revealing her once flesh, the souls she transports often require convincing that they are dead, needing to speak to loved ones, of engage in games of pretend. That is a part task she does not enjoy, as it feels to be trickery. But the task is all she is, and so this falsehood is used to cause them to gently let go. She was fully capable of taking on another shape, to look like another, but for now, Theresia was 'herself'. She trusts in the agreement, knows that during Death's unexpected and extended absence that she is more useful performing her task than not.

Looking up, green eyes the color of fields green with spring rain and leafy orchards reaching for the sky, meet his own. She had not made use of her low voice since the acknowledgement and thanks were given, letting her gaze speak for her. But then Death has run a tight ship for so long, it is said that not even his Reapers seek Death, they wait for him to call them.

Despite knowing it to be a false form, Hades is also aware that it is real enough for his purposes that night. He watches as the Reaper transforms into what his eyes tell him is a young maiden, demure and very pretty. The vision pleases him greatly, especially as it reminds him in ways of his absent Queen. Yes, this will do nicely, he thinks.

From a chest, Hades retrieves a wide leather band, a shining metal chain attached to it and clinking softly as he crosses the chamber toward Theresia.

"Remember the terms of the treaty," he says as reminder before moving to fasten the collar around her neck. "Your servitude, until that device on the mantel reads sunrise."

However, she is not immune to sound of chain, or the sight of the restraint, representations of the removal of choice, and Theresia is abruptly ruffled. One foot betraying her and beginning to step backwards, she is pulled up short by his voice. In the sudden turmoil, couldn't look as her hair is lifted out of the way, the leather making contact with her throat, hearing the hitch in her breath and swallowing hard, the fastenings closing.

Death was chained up by one of the new gods and buried away, left his tasks to fall to her shoulders. The last thing her father said was that he was looking forward to the quiet. He must have agreed to that too. Was that the lesson here? That choice was to be found here too? Choice to comply? Choice to allow and submit? Yes.

Eyes closing, trembling as she fights against the desire to retreat and to stand on the uncertain ground she was placed. Since coming into her own, had never been caught, by choice or otherwise. Kept away from those who were stronger and older in their powers. At anytime she could be insubstantial, sidestep as soon she made it to the gates, and what would be the result? Breaking a treaty put in place because Death again knew something she did not, the same reason he allowed himself to be locked away.

Yes, she remembers, a small reassurance that halts the unconscious step backwards. Uncertainty on the surface, underlain with resolve, she looks at him again, exposed in a way she didn't expect.

Hades steps back and looks her over. After the passing time and with the collar and chain in place, he finds it much easier and more pleasing to simply think of Theresia as "her" than to constantly remind himself of her true nature. After all, her nature is not what is required of her this night and by the treaty, it is whatever she can provide to the Lord of the Underworld.

He can tell Theresia is hesitant, cautious, but she looks up and meets his gaze rather than continuing to shrink away, and that speaks greatly for her.

"Time to begin." Hades closes the distance between them and, while still holding the chain linked to her collar in one hand, leans down to her, using his free hand to tilt her chin upwards. A moment later, his mouth crushes against hers in a ravenous kiss.

At the tug, her inhale is sharp and would have stolen his breath. Heels rising from the floor compensate for the difference in height and she meets him part way. Lips bruising under the assault, open to his hunger, welcoming the invasion. Her skin may be cool, but her mouth, tasting of metheglin, [mead with spices, in this case meadowsweet, heats in response to his greed. A whimper in her throat rises, a sound that is swallowed, an indication that she contains her own need. In truth, one that has been unmet for centuries. Eyes widen at revelation.

She proves to be one surprise after another, something that only stirs Hades to look forward to the night's progression even more. Not only does Theresia's taste pleas him greatly, her reaction does even more so. If she has wants, then he can work with them, satisfy them at the same time he bends her to his own.

"Now, remove my garments," he instructs, gesturing at his finely-made if simply-styled robes. While Theresia does, Hades takes the opportunity to admire the form she's chosen for the night. "Lovely, very lovely."

She does not simply vanish what is in her way and attempts to abide by unspoken rules, keeping the reaper within and giving the soul and its body without. Curiosity in her eyes, but no words aloud. Instead her hands rose to flow over his form, over his shoulders, finding the openings in the fabric to push it aside. Leaning in she sniffs the side of his neck, the tip of her nose brushing against him, exhales ghosting over skin. Layers pulled away, moving so slow, dallying, one might even call it teasing, her mouth joins the inhalation of his scent. She's enjoying this.

Over his shoulders, the material falls, catching on his arm that holds the chain. Fingers flow over his chest, seeking to memorize him as they do what she has been instructed, finding loopholes.

The slight touches of Theresia's fingertips on his skin as she disrobes him send sparks along Hades' flesh, stirring him and warming him even more quickly and thoroughly than he'd been hoping. Momentarily, he switches the hands holding the girl's chain, allowing all of his robes to finally slide to the floor. Now he stands in front of her, as naked as she, his growing arousal plain to observe.

He leads her to the large bed and pulls Theresia down onto it with him. Capturing her mouth again for a kiss, Hades grasps her slim wrist and pulls her hand down to his length.

No hesitation, no backward steps, he leads and she follows willingly with a controlled tumble to the mattress. When his lips press to hers, hungry licking kisses taste him, as she attempts to distinguish his flavors. Her tongue flicks over the roof of his mouth, sliding against his with a near audible purr of pleasure in her chest.

At the unspoken direction, cool fingers, curling around his rising desire, sliding over him, exploratory here too. Ridges are circled, palm rising to resting against the mushroomed head of his cock. Releasing him, her hand splays against the skin of his lower abdomen for a moment, his heated length brushing against the back of her hand. The tips of her fingers find the base of his arousal only to grasp him again.

Quite aware at anytime this line of discovery could be halted, Theresia is takes the time to appreciate the confines of her role, and does not delay to prevent the inevitable at all, as she continues to move forward. Her former body warms against his, the very human reactions, telling as she shifts closer, her own reactions had been nearly forgotten just as her partner's would be. Yes, the dance is known, but little things were lost in the alteration of her purpose of one form to another so long ago.

Hades is delighted to find himself surprised once more. Theresia proves far more than just a simple, passive offering to his hungers, but a lover eager to explore and be explored. There is a taste to her kiss and a sensation deep in the way she touches him back, that she may be as surprised as he at her fervor.

He groans as her hand circles his cock. In response, his own hands slide down her back to cup a taut, firm rear before slipping around the front. One of Hades' hands slips between Theresia's thighs to press his fingers against her cleft.

As he continues to explore her sex, Hades rises in the bed until Theresia's form is laid out before him, ready and open to receive his touch. His one hand continues busily stimulating her sex, while the other pulls at the chain on her collar, bringing the girl's head closer to his lap.

At the first touch, her inhale and gaze is startled, the mind forgot this bit of pleasure, but hips know this step and her hips roll and thighs part to give better access. Hidden moist heat here as well, the reaper is well controlled and does not reveal this passion and hunger to just anyone.

Curling, to meet him, hardly needing urging, clever fingers still roaming his roused length, her mouth finds him without instruction. A bit of moisture is tasted as her tongue slides over the slitted opening of his cock, rolling over the broad head. The point of her tongue follows the prominent vein running down the length of him to the root, her own heat growing in response to his solidifying hardness and the slid of his fingers over her.

Without further encouragement, her mouth opens to take him in, to find the raised lip of him, encircling it as her fingers had before. But they drift over him to soft wrinkled skin, separating sensitive ovals and pads of delicate fingers roll them in his sac.

Reapers are mind readers, giving their clients what they want to persuade them to let go and come below. However, Theresia has not invaded to know what he wants, she follows some baser instinct of her own.

Over the centuries, many souls have paid this tribute to Hades, and he recalls with some measure of satisfaction that the great majority of them, once faced with the tasks he placed before them, had responded with pleasure or at least without resistance. He'd not known what to expect when Death sent a reaper to be this year's offering, but the Lord of the Underworld is certainly pleased.

Theresia gives him the gift of enthusiasm, her body responding to his ministrations instantly, her sex warming and growing wet under his searching, stroking fingers. More than that, he needs give her little instruction-- when she not only begins to stroke his member but to take it in her mouth and lave it with such intent, it strikes him that these must be echoes of the reaper's former existence. It is too real and too sweet to be performance.

Hades curls two of his fingers and slips them into her slit while his hips begin to rock, stroking his cock in her mouth.

Her whimper is ~~heard~~ felt in full this time, containing utter longing, desire that had gotten lost in the pursuit of being perfectly balanced, as if it had no place there and was set aside and forgotten. The sound travels along his length, burrowing into his core. A rough patch inside her discovered, like a cat's tongue, and she shifts in his grasp, hips daring to rise, to ask for more.. This too was repressed and the craving calls out like a physical tug.

Words unspoken, mewls vibrate. Not distressed, just at a temporary loss as she continues to worship him, to enjoy each moment given and taken. An arm slips around his waist to help press him deeper, to take away her unneeded ability to breathe. The body shudders, still very human in that need, even if the reaper overcomes it. Temporarily ruled by human emotions and desires, she does not give in to the limitations.

Like ripples in a pond, the waves of sensation that originate with the sounds that Theresia makes around his cock only repeat and magnify as they travel through Hades' body, waves that crash over him and he willfully submerges himself in.

When his searching fingers strike the spot within her that makes Theresia's body clamor for more, he concentrates his efforts and attentions on it. The pads of his fingers rub small circles in quick rhythms. He curls his fingers as well, both to reach inside her and as if to beckon her further and further into sensation.

He is already moving when she pulls him, and he pushes his length into her throat, taking her mouth almost as a promise of how he intends to take her everywhere else.

The body struggles with rising desire and lack of breath, a tremor building at her center.

She attunes herself further to him, twitching under his skilled hands. Salty sweet scent of arousal coats his fingers that delve into her heated depth. Her tongue rubs insistently over his hard demanding length, the pulling pressure of her mouth surrounding him. Suppressed sighs and what is beginning to sound like moans continue to vibrate through him as if he is a stringed instrument, except he is the musician playing her, the one conducting this piece.

Closer she gets to shattering, to possibly breaking and scattering the reaper's mask, not knowing if there is anyone left under it to maintain the illusion of presence and personality. She has never given this much of herself, only playing with illusions in the mind. No wonder Death pushes her so.

Although Theresia is meant to be serving him, Hades finds his urge to bring about her climax only growing with each passing moment. His fingers delve into her, more deeply and more insistently, stimulating with a relentless drive. To bring such a purely physical sensation, to cause a reaper to experience what many mortals call the little death, would surely be a wonder to behold.

And during all that, she is mouthing his shaft, as hungrily and as skillfully as any woman has ever pleasured him in this way. Hades groaned in appreciation, stroking her hair and running his fingertips over her cheeks and chin and other lovely features.

The hand between her thighs moves even faster. "Come for me," he commands. "I want you to come for me."

Lost in sensation, that is never so. She is distant, an observer, a manipulator if necessary, but here, here she something else entirely.

Her form, her body from before shakes, muscles twitching, thighs trembling. Lungs long for air she will not give, just as she longs for something she cannot name. Wishes that the tension building in her would snap at the same time she wants it to continue. When was the last time she wanted anything for herself?

His voice reaches into her again, and she tries to ignore it, Death's daughter is unused to following demands, but she wants what he encourages, what his curling twisting fingers drive her towards, what has been agreed. Fighting against the shaking, or for it, her body attempts to curl and contort, to roll away and towards him at the same time, strength that is not a mere woman. Internal muscles take up the the flutter of earthquakes that she tries to stay on top of and begins to fail, stumbling, falling. Swallowing around him, throat constricting, muffled sound travels through him, astonished desire given voice, a cry that shifts the gray soul slightly off balance and causes the ghostly form to light up as her control cracks and shatters. Shale splits and falling into the sea, each shudder and shake was another thin slice splitting off, there wildness about her, a little feral, and before she did him any harm, pulled away from his length, even as her arms clung around him, shaking. Teeth press against his thigh instead, canines sharp as she arches in his hands, lost and broken.

Hades isn't certain what to expect what a reaper's climax might look like, if indeed such a thing has ever been. And while Theresia has taken a mortal form and is behaving in many physical was as a mortal might, she isn't one. Fortunately for the Lord of the Underworld, neither is he, as the intensity of her coming is greater than any would be able to stand.

The palace trembles as she unravels and explodes, her body closing around him the way her sex clutches around his fingers. Wave after wave of intense sensation swells out of her and crashes over him. Hades feels the sharp sting of her teeth, but does not register it until much later, only enjoying the way it underscores and heightens the pleasure.

As the tremors subside, he uncurls Theresia from around him and lays her back out onto the bed, securing the chain on her collar to its frame. Hades returns, stretching out above the girl and parting her legs until he can settle between them with his cock resting against her now warm, wet slit.

Green eyes still very much affected flutter open, a question of why in the deepening color, becoming emeralds in this light. If she were to speak now, her voice would not know the word, still lost in its earlier cry that declared more about her own loneliness than any conversation. Lips bruised by urgent kisses and by her urgency to taste him, to wrap around his cock, pulling him to full arousal. Fair skin is flushed, infused with a very believable color, that spreads over her face, chest, and breasts, a nice handful each with nipples a rosy color. Her form pulls itself together, coalescing, moulding itself to her surroundings, to the surface under her, to him above her. Arms and legs are limp as if they have drained and forgot the strength they just wielded, exhausted by the power that flowed through them, yet occasionally she twitches, aftershocks still running through her. Long locks are spread out, strands of brown as varied as in nature, chestnut, mahogany, walnut. Her mother may have been a goddess of nature, as it is unlikely to have been some simple dryad or human that enticed Death long enough for a tryst.

If he could hear, her mind is a rather quiet place, prior fears and concern temporarily muted. But again instinct moves her, tilting her hips to welcome and accommodate him. This is another reason to suspect a goddess had a hand in the sculpting of this body that unconsciously wants to be joined, to be used and enjoyed.

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