bakerstreet | Is it Thursday? Must be Mid-Fuck!

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Is it Thursday? Must be Mid-Fuck!

Are you tired of building up to the act? Do you sometimes wish for a chance to skip the conversation and go straight for the scenario you've always wanted to experience?

In that case, rejoice! This meme was made for you.

THE RULES:

Post with your character in the middle of having sex.
Any scenario and level of description is allowed!
Other characters reply as your character's partner in that fuck!
Keep going and finish the act.
Go for another round or have fun with cuddling and afterplay.
Have fun!

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"You wound me," He began, approaching her. One abnormally long hand fell upon her shoulder and wrapped there warmly. "Is it not enough that I wish to help you?"

His fingers were tipped with long, sharp nails, and these pricked her chin as he lifted her beautiful face to the wall of windows before her. On the other side sat some dozen men, all in carnelian-red robes, their expressions shuttered. The cardinals, there to watch, and confirm, the proofs of her purity which Seymour would render.

"I am... concerned for you."

His voice was surprisingly high for such a large man, and tender. He towered above her, behind her. When he bent forward a thick lock of his blue hair fell over her shoulder, just as his hands slid down to part her open robe. Slowly, with all due care for precedent, he revealed her to the audience.

"I would not wish for one so beautiful to come to harm."

His stature had been harder to gauge when she was behind a cell. As he stood presently, it was impossible for her not to notice. She twitched as he he touched her face. At the reveal of the men, she pursed her lips, then kept her expression straight and impassive. She had to pretend like this was nothing.

"There's only so much any woman can endure."

Her body was slender and beautiful, but there was a large, jagged, and unique red scar under her left breast. She trusted Seymour so far as not to cover herself in front of the cardinals, who looked on.

"And I am desperate enough to endure this, and choose to believe you for the time being. However… you might as well tell me what the worst of it's going to be while you have the chance."

C.C. could act like she was used to this kind of treatment, but she wasn't. She was proud, and her need to rely on the man behind her made her squirm inside as much as the gaze of the red-robed men. It was impossible to ignore both.

His hands were warm. Indeed, heat radiated off his frame, and it licked the slender curves of her body as the robe fell to the floor. But the hands in particular, as he cupped her right breast and lifted it. His thumb rubbed over the peach-pink nipple. A softness crept into his voice, cooling his irony. He spoke just for her, below what would be caught by the cardinals beyond the glass.

"You must forgive me, my lady. It is critical that you demonstrate surprise, at the right moments."

A witch would not be afraid. A witch would not be surprised by any indignity visited upon her. One who offered herself freely to dark powers could not possibly be shocked by anything that a high priest could do to her. No matter how inventive he was.

C.C. would see a pair of cardinals shift in their seats as Seymour encompassed her left breast as the right, drawing it gently up, exposing the scar. He felt it, rather than saw it. He could sense the unevenness of her fine fair skin. With both hands he plucked her nipples and pinched them, hard enough to hold as he ground them between thumb and forefinger.

"Cry out," he suggested, mildly, with his smooth lips close to her ear.

C.C. understood and kept her own voice low. Her face did not betray a slowly growing impatience, or her discomfort. She understood. Taking orders didn't suit her, and she hated that his voice was soft and that the grip of his hands was warm. But this was about survival.

She forced herself to watch the reactions of cardinals, as if to learn something. But she still didn't know down from up. That she was in the dark was the worst part of this. Her body was being toyed with, so suddenly, and Seymour was offering her nothing but the barest instructions.

When the time came, C.C. did cry out. Her back muscles tightened, and her instinct was to elbow back at Seymour somewhere that would hurt. She put the flash of anger into her performance instead, and it added a rawness to her voice. An uncomfortable tingle dashed across her exposed skin.

"Is this how a gentleman treats a lady?"

"A complaint."

He acknowledged her protest in that way, and by releasing her breasts at once. They trembled gorgeously as they slipped from his fingers. His hands enclosed her waist, smoothing down her belly and hips. He had to bend to reach her thighs, and his throat came close to her shoulder, his cheek to her cheek.

He urged her to spread her legs with his prickly fingertips and nails.

"Do you find me objectionable? Tell me. Which one of the cardinals would you prefer?"

The men on the other side of the glass ranged from the late fifties to some innumerable number of years - ninety, one hundred and change. Their elderly limbs propped upon the armrests of gilt chairs, their jowls set and liver-spotted as they watched Seymour manipulate C.C.'s smooth white limbs. His grip on her became forceful - she would have no choice but to spread, and his large hand circled her right thigh and pulled it up high, higher.

He, broad in his luxurious silk robes, would have no trouble managing her weight as he opened her for the delectation of the audience.

The pricks from his nails didn't hurt, but she could feel them distinctly. She didn't need to be reminded this way, too, that she was naked and defenseless. It was annoying how Seymour was being confident and nonchalant. It didn't let her get much of a read on him. Maybe it wouldn't help her one bit, but C.C. was floundering in her brain. This was a lot to deal with at once.

She closed her eyes but didn't resist as he pulled her legs apart. She fidgeted and rolled her shoulders. The size difference between them was uncomfortable. C.C. was like a little mannequin to him, and of course it was objectionable. That part of it wasn't something she wanted to but into words. Normally it was very easy for her to quip, but nothing about this scenario was normal.

"Wouldn't one of them be easier to entertain? Besides, the correct time to offer the choice would have been before you started to touch me."

She tossed her hair and looked over towards am empty corner of the room. They wouldn't just be easier to entertain; they would be easier to manipulate or deal with in some other way. But Seymour's dangerous air was as much a draw to her as it was a caution. One of her weaknesses.

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