Regina sat on her throne, surrounded by all the other bits and baubles that Gold had collected in the 28 years she’d had them trapped in Storybrooke, looking down on him the way she looked down on everyone, haughty and smirking and wearing little more than boots and a garter belt. It had been a pain having Gold underfoot for all that time, but she was rather enjoying now, watching as his face contorted with desire and pain every time she pressed her toes down against his swollen cock. Some people, she decided, were just born for misery; and if she could get something out of it, his submission (even temporarily) and her own sick satisfaction, it wasn’t like Regina was going to tell him no. He was still his cocky laughing self, but it was the please that caught her attention, mostly because words like that were beneath her, begging words, words of request and not demand; and hearing them from anyone else, especially Gold, gave her a particular thrill. Regina released him, lifting her leg and dropping it over the arm of the chair, exposing the dampness of her cunt to his eager eyes; “one condition: keep begging,” and Regina was the one to laugh when she recieve Gold’s usual reply: “deal”.
Anonymous asked: SPN, Balthazar/Atropos, she’s surprisingly enthusiastic and dominant once he manages to get her into the bedroom.
He should have expected it really, it was one of those cliche things that was always going to happen; the neat freak, the uptight librarian, the girl with everything in order is always the one who turns into something sexy and fierce when she gets to the bedroom. Except that Balthazar never really expected that it would end with him chained to a bed while she teased him to the point of screaming; Balthazar didn’t even realize that he had a point of screaming, he was used to orgies for weeks and partners who never bloody stopped! Never once until Atropos had anyone actually punished him with a whip, calling him a naughty boy as every lash made his cock press hader and more uncomfortably into the mattress… and he certainly hadn’t ever come from exquisite pain of a woman who knew how to smack the leather just right across his ass and thighs, not until Atropos. So yeah, maybe it was a bit of blow to his pride when she made him count off the number of lashes and apologize after each one, to beg her for more when she was finished and apologize for the way his cock refused to lay back down after coming half a dozen times. But the smirk on her face when she finally settled over his hips, guiding his cock toward the wet heat of her cunt, made him all the more grateful that he enjoyed a little bdsm now and again.
Anonymous asked: Torchwood, Owen/Toshiko: Owen feels more at peace than he ever thought possible, here at Tosh’s feet with the collar clasped tight around his neck.
Nobody noticed Tosh until she started standing up for herself, and now Owen can’t look anywhere else, staring up at his mistress from the floor at her feet. She’s good to him, never harsh or mean, but always demanding in a way that makes Owen want to obey, and rewarding him well when he’s been good. Staring at her, his head in her naked lap, cock laying exhausted against his thighs, he’s not even tempted to take more than she’s given him because Tosh leaves them both satisfied when she’s finished. Her fingers stroke through his hair and pause to adjust the collar around his neck, twisting it until the ring is poised at the nape of his neck where it should be, and everything is calm and serene. And after all his girl chasing days, his womanizing nights, Owen has finally found the one thing he needed: a woman who knew how to put him in his place and keep him there.
Bound on his knees in front of her, Alastair can see nothing except the perfect whiteness of her calves and feet; but he doesn’t need to see anything more to know that the rustle of fabric means that she’s standing in front of him entirely naked and just out of reach. Not that he could touch her even if she was close enough, besides his hands being bound, Alastair is under strict orders not to move; and the more he obeys, the more likely it is that Lilith will look kindly on his obedience and reward him - or at the very least, not punish him. So he remains completely still while she settles a chair in front of him and slides down close enough that he can smell the heat of her cunt; she grips his hair so hard that he can feel the strands she’s ripping out and the blood on the ones that she doesn’t quit get out. One foot drops down between his legs, pressing so hard on his cock that he’s pretty sure she’s about to break something, but he keeps completely still and silent until she’s finished toying with him. It isn’t until Lilith orders him, “Eat, and don’t make a fucking mess,” that Alastair relalizes that this is the sort of punishment he enjoys, despite the painful way she stomps on his cock every time his tongue in her cunt hits just the right spot.