Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stuck in a Wall / Sex Pollen / Monsterfucking

Descending down the great tree that the stories called the Throat of God put Ragnvaldr on edge. Not that anyone could tell by looking at him. He felt disconnected from his body, the same way he had after days in the cursed place called Vineland. 

The tree creaked with growing pains, and insects buzzed to join the chorus. Occasionally the mumblers joined with a haunting melody, and it sounded too similar to the dark forests that had nearly swallowed all of his companions whole. The same darkness that had led to Ragnvaldr's first taste of human flesh.

The path wasn't always clear, and he tested for openings in the vines with a stick he had found. Sometimes they parted for him, and others they were a solid wall. But what he was testing for was the ones that parted slightly before violently twisting and grabbing the stick. A trap he had seen swallow a man in Vineland, and from the skeletons caught in the twisted walls a trap here as well.

Once he deemed the gap safe he would squeeze through, and continued his descent down.

Foolishly he didn't expect the darkness to learn.

Again he checked the path through the living wall with his stick, and again he found the vines didn't try to grab it after he tested them. But once they sensed the heat of his body the trap struck.

Vines snapped around him. Large thorns dug into the fur and leather he wore, and strangely smooth ones wrapped around his bare flesh. Ragnvaldr roared as he tried to muscle through, and as his head broke through a mumbler sung in response to the noise.

For a split second he froze not wanting to be caught by the troublesome monster, but in that time more vines wrapped around him. Twisting in their grasp the thorns dug deeper into his clothes and cut into his skin. Growling he bit into a vine in front of him, and the vines groaned as the soft flesh of it hardened into bark. The vines contracted until it gagged him like a horse’s bit, and one of the mumbler’s bells chimed nearby.

Now that Ragnvaldr was held until he only jerked uselessly in the wooden wall, smaller softer vines entangled around him. They followed the hard lines of muscles of his calves catching on his hair, but never moving so fast that they hurt. More vines found their way under his shirt and found the natural curve of his pecs as a place to settle in an almost loving embrace. Those around his middle held the heft of him. The extra soft layer he had built so he was better able to survive starvation if it came for him again.

For a brief moment he remembered his wife and her loving arms. How she grew with their child, and the boy he had loved and wished for none of the hardships he had faced. In the sick way of the gods that wish was granted.

Ragnvaldr secretly wished to lose himself in that dream of the past, but since birth he had been branded with a soul of the tormented one.

Vines wrapped around his throat, and now he heard more than one mumbler humming their tune approach. The wall groaned as more vines grew out, and found their way into his loincloth. They rustled against his pubic hair, and one strangely wet slide up his taint. There it found a hole between his butt cheeks, and Ragnvaldr closed his eyes.

He didn’t see the mumblers gather around to witness.

It was a strange kindness for the dungeon that the wall of vines chose to penetrate him with a slick appendage. He had seen the mercenary on his knees as a guard took him, and the three other guards watched and waited for their turns. The mercenary wouldn’t survive the assault based on the screams that had followed Ragnvaldr as he ran. Even if he did, his mind surely wouldn’t. It was a pointless effort to feel guilty for leaving him to his fate. Ragnvaldr had a mission and his own dangers to face deeper in the dungeon.

It also seemed pointless to be grateful for this reprieve. He couldn‘t struggle, and just had to take the vine invading him, unmaning him.

The mumblers seemed to gasp with him as he felt a pleasurable pressure inside, and soon he was lost to darkness.

Chapter Text

Glory Hole / Clothed Sex / Hand Job

It took three drinks at the Broken Heart for Stakh to build up enough courage to head to the back. Most knew it was a place for illicit actions that the Stamatin brothers had to at least pretend didn't happen to stay open, and Stakh was now tipsy enough to convince himself that no one would care if he went back there himself.

It took him a minute to orient himself in the clutter of the backroom, before he figured out where he needed to go. Amongst the extra inventory there was what looked like a confessional booth that had to have either been imported or commissioned by a local carpenter. It was truly as brazen as the rumors suggested, and fittingly so for the architects.

Stakh rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants, and knocked on one side as he heard he was supposed to. When no knock answered he climbed in.

The booth like most things was not built for Stakh to fit, and the only reason he could was the bench was missing. He latched the door closed behind him, and went to his knees so he didn't have to stoop longer any longer.

Then he saw in the dim light the glory hole. It was overly perfect for such an forbidden thing. Perfectly centered in the partition and sanded smooth it looked like deliberate carpentry.

The wait for someone else felt impossibly long, as if time was standing still and daring Stakh to give up his nerve. He held out rubbing his palms on his pants rhythmically until the door on the other side of the confessional opened. What little light was in the booth was now shadowed by the figure on the other side, and they knocked on the partition.

Stakh licked his lips as he knocked back, and waited with baited breath as he heard the shuffling of clothing.

Then through the hole came exactly what Stakh wanted. A cock with no personal connection, no messy emotions, and no fear of if they would see him as lesser afterwards. They couldn't see him at all.

The cock, like almost all cocks in town beside his own, was uncircumcised. The foreskin was loose over the head, and gradually began to pull back as it grew hard in his hand. With the gentle precision he would use in an examination he pulled back the foreskin, and licked the head feeling it grow firm under his tongue. He wanted to hold the cock firmly at its root and explore the undoubtedly heavy sack that came with it, but the partition was a barrier between him and all but the man's cock.

He was left to fantasize about the rest of him, but Stakh pointedly stopped before he could let his feelings for others rear their ugly head.

Instead he sucked on the tip, and massaged the vein on the underside of the cock with his thumb. He enjoyed the firm feel of the glans that still had the bounce and give of living flesh. He could play like that forever, but knew it could be unsatisfying so eventually he sucked in more of the cock.

He moaned around it, but pushed his own arousal to the back of his thoughts. Stakh was here to serve, and he didn't have to worry about what that said about him as a man. Here on this side he was just an eager wet mouth with nothing to prove aside from the pleasure he could give.

Just as the partition prevented his greedy hands from feeling more than he had earned it also protected him from the other man thrusting too deep. It was all under his control even if the longer he pleasured the other man the more he wanted to choke on the cock. Instead he swallowed it down with vigor getting every inch of exposed flesh in his mouth. His swollen lips tingled pleasure not unlike what one got from a kiss, even if Stakh hadn't had many kisses to compare it too. Only the wooden barrier prevented him from his goal of burying his face into the pubic hair of the other, and it was practically taunting him.

Then before he was ready the cock jumped in his mouth, and it was filled with the unpleasantly mucusy texture of come. Stakh swallowed it, and leaned back on his calves feeling a little lost and empty now the cock had been taken away.

He tried to reason with himself that this was foolish as he heard footsteps retreating, but before he could collect himself and leave someone else knocked on the partition.

After his own eager knock Stakh was gifted another cock to pleasure.

Chapter Text

Sounding / Multiple Orgasms / Omorash

Lara squealed in pleasure, closing her thighs around Yulia's head as she reached her peak for the second time that night. Every muscle of hers trembled, and she didn't have the strength to lift her head and look where Yulia was still planted between her thighs.

It was unfair. Yulia had only removed her coat and rolled up her sleeves, and Lara was completely naked for her. Yulia spread Lara's soft thighs, and didn't stop licking at her cunt even after her orgasm. If Lara could do anything more than feel the sensations overcoming her she would wonder how Yulia could keep this up. Her tongue and jaw had to be tired, but she kept attending to her lover.

Then two fingers pushed into Lara and curled, and Lara could do nothing but gasp in pleasure as Yulia focused on suckling her clit. 

Clawing the bed sheets everything whited out in Lara's vision, and her tired body wanted to fall into post-coital indolence. Three times were enough for Lara but not for Yulia.

She pulled away with half her face wet with Lara's juices and her hair falling out of its bun. She twisted her fingers in Lara, and kept fucking her and feeling her cunt spasm around them.

Lara shook her head, and held back a cry. She hadn't calmed down but was brought back up to another orgasm she wasn't sure if the last one truly ended.

“Please.” Lara begged as tears fell.

Yulia smiled, and started rubbing Lara's over sensitive clit with her thumb. “One more.”

Lara couldn't say no to that smile or those hands, and as she clenched down one more time she gushed all over Yulia's fingers.

Chapter Text

Whipping / Cock & Ball Torture / Spit Kink

Meredith inspected Cullen’s back with a critical eye. His body like most templars was scared, and the ragged claw marks on his back were undoubtedly left behind by the abominations at Kinloch Hold. Her Knight Captain remained still as her bare hand checked a few points on his back. She wouldn't permanently injure him during this lesson.

“There are places you must never strike, Knight Captain.” She told him.

“The spine,” She ran her hand down his spine in emphasis, and then slid it over the soft fat that protected his kidneys and other organs, “and lower back are completely forbidden. When you discipline my men I expect them to survive the punishment.”

Cullen was doing an admirable job of keeping his breath even, but he couldn’t stop the way his back tensed up when she explained the danger. He was serious and eager to please, and had confirmed that the last time he had been whipped was as a recruit. Then he had been beaten with a switch, a fitting punishment for a boy.

Meredith’s job was to teach him how a man was punished.

“Most punishments will be dealt on the upper back.” She explained as she retrieved the disciplinary cat. “If you feel additional humiliation is needed you will punish them as a boy.”

“As a boy, Commander?" Cullen asked.

“On the bare buttocks.” Meredith answered, and ran her hand through the tails of the cat to make sure they were untangled.

There was an air as if Cullen wanted to ask more, but it slowly dissolved as he stayed obediently quiet. He was to listen and learn tonight, and questions were for later.

She looked over Cullen one more time before instructing. “Brace yourself against the wall, Knight Captain.”

She watched him walk to the wall, and place his hands on it like he was going to do a push up.

“No,” Meredith corrected, and manhandled him so his forearm was taking his weight against the wall. Cullen quickly mimicked the position with his other arm.

“Good.” Color rose on his cheeks with her praise but she paid it no mind. “Do not move your arms. If you reach for the flogger at any time I will not permit you to get magical healing no matter how bad the injury is.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He answered, and shifted to put more of his weight on his arms.

Stepping away Meredith stretched her neck and shook out her arm. Then she swung.

Cullen’s startled gasp was louder than the first hit. Meredith was more concerned with her technique than the power behind it, but the cat was a cruel instrument unlike the toys that prostitutes played with at the Rose. Red welts immediately blossomed where the tails hit even though Meredith hadn’t put her whole strength into it.

The next strike hit the other side of Cullen’s back this time with much more force behind it, and he arched forward as if to get away. Another strike and he was choking on his own pained noises.

That was all the warm up Meredith needed, and this was to teach Cullen exactly how a disciplinary whipping felt like. She gave him nothing to bite on, or bindings for Cullen to center himself with. He was to feel the burn of each strike, and she expected him to stay still on his own. She expected nothing less of the newly promoted Knight Captain than the discipline to accept the flogging as she gave it to him.

Cullen couldn’t hold back a cry by the sixth strike, and by the tenth his back glowed red.

Meredith had found a comfortable rhythm for herself, and the crack of the cat was the beat to the melody of Cullen’s cries and sobs. It was too easy to get lost in the moment, and to her own disgust Meredith lost track of how many swings she had taken.

She only stopped when she saw the way Cullen was barely holding himself up, and realized his cries had been reduced to pathetic whimpers. Looking him over, many of the welts on his back were broken and bleeding, and Meredith pretended for her own sake that her deep satisfaction was completely professional.

With his back to her she had plenty of time to collect herself, before leading him to a stool. He moved like a freshly made tranquil, dazed and docile, with his head hung low as if it weighed too much for his neck.

His back was hot under her hands, and for a brief moment Meredith considered the use of a spirit healer. She hadn’t meant to work him this hard, but this was templar business. The mage would no doubt gossip, and the Gallows would get the wrong idea.

She would care for him herself, and check his back over the next few days. She had requisitioned a powerful elfroot poultice for this night, and the memory of the lashing would be good for her captain. 

The poultice was cold on her fingers, and Meredith knew from experience elfroot stung in open wounds. The only reaction from her captain was the random involuntary twitch of his back muscles, and a strange hum when she rubbed the poultice so it would penetrate into his muscles better.

Meredith wiped her hands clean on a rag, and then lifted her captain’s chin to look him in the eyes. His pupils were blown wide and glossy making them appear a darker richer brown to their normally more honey hued.

“You did well, Knight Captain.”

At the praise for the first time Meredith saw his face brighten with a smile.

Chapter Text

Public Use / Breeding / Fucking Machine

The spring after the sand pest had nearly destroyed the town when both Artemy and Clara had come to Stakh thought he had been prepared when they told him he owed a debt to the Kin that needed to be repaid. Stakh had accepted, and even looked forward to them taking their pound of flesh to ease the guilt of his sacrilege. The Kains refused to punish him, and Saburov was no longer alive to arrest him anyway.

Then it turned out while the Kin wanted blood it wasn’t what they needed. Not in the literal sense.

Now when Stakh walked through the crude sprawl he had to be prepared for anyone to grab him. 

Sometimes it was an angry man wanting to take out his anger and aggression on him. Taking advantage that Stakh agreed to give up the word no when it came to their needs. They forced him to his knees, and to choke down their cocks and come. It wasn’t uncommon for his lips to be flushed and bruised, and his throat to be a little sore from their enthusiasm.

Other times it was a woman who no longer had a husband and was worried by how many of the Kin were now gone forever. Stakh had to find it in him to perform for them, and over time he got used to holding the weight of a woman against a wall as he did what he could to give her what she wanted with her skirts pushed up, and his pants barely hanging on.

The most terrifying times were when the herb brides got a hold of him.

It was never just one herb bride, but at least half a dozen. They would swarm him, and take his clothing baring him to the world. Their hands would touch him everywhere, and it wasn’t enough for them to make him come. They would slide slick fingers into him, and milk him for every drop even when he thought he couldn’t take more. Only when his balls were empty and aching would they leave him. The only saving grace was how the Kin would leave him alone for a few days afterwards.

Then no matter how many of the Kin had decided to use him that day, Stakh could go to Isidor’s house, now belonging to Artemy, and there would be a cup of tea made exactly how Stakh liked it and Artemy’s warm presence.

Chapter Text

Handcuffs / Cuckolding / Frotting

Saburov was a useless man.

No matter how hard he and his wife tried he couldn't give her a child. It was the one thing they both wanted more than each other. A little one to call their own.

Sometimes Alexander wished Katerina would push for annulment so she could find a man who could give her what she really wanted. If she asked he would sacrifice his happiness for hers in a heart beat.

Saburov was a desperate man.

He read medical literature that he didn't understand, and had spoken with Isidor of their secret shame long before it became common knowledge. He even held back his distaste, and asked if he knew some pagan magic or potion to help them.

Isidor examined them both in private, and asked embarrassing questions. Including if they actually knew how to make a child of all foolish things.

In the end Isidor struck a tragic blow to Alexander's manhood. They might have a child if they asked for a discrete man's help. It happened sometimes in the Kin, and as every child was the Kin's child they thought nothing of it.

Katerina said no.

Saburov was a hateful man.

The Stamatin twins soiled the Kains’ good name just by coming into town and drinking and carousing their way through it. Bringing an unnatural all too human chaos that did the town harm in ways the Dark Mistresses natural chaos never would.

Peter Stamatin was the worst of the two.

Andrey had the good taste to show his true colors outwardly. Like a colorful spider announcing his venom only those foolish enough to engage got bit. Peter in contrast hid behind quieter mannerisms and smiles designed to make virtuous women swoon. Yet he had ruined just as many women and men as his brother with none of the blame.

He had even made dear sweet Katerina smile at his antics.

Saburov was a perverted man.

Sometimes when Alexander was busy in his office he remembered the way Katerina smiled. How if not for the source he would have been grateful, but that cad wasn’t just debauching the town’s upper class but he had killed a man. The blood undoubtedly on Peter’s hands didn’t stop Alexander’s depraved thoughts as much as he wished it would.

It started long before the Stamatins came to town with Alexander looking at other men, and wondering if they could give his wife the child they desired. He took comfort in knowing that any child would have Katerina’s darker hair making the legitimacy of the child less likely to be under scrutiny.

He never thought deeper than that until Peter.

Peter unfortunately was a handsome man with a bold nose, expressive eyes, and lips that could make a virtuous man wonder. He had broken through Katerina’s melancholy and made her smile, and Alexander in his most vulnerable moments thought Peter could make Katerina not just smile but glow with pregnancy.

Just the idea of it would draw Alexander to his wife, because to handle such feelings alone would be sinful and the draw was too strong.

He would hold his beautiful wife, and worship her milky soft skin and use every ounce of self control he had to think only of Katerina. 

It never was enough.

No matter how ardently Alexander attended to Katerina’s needs, Peter would show up in his mind's eye. Instead of caring for his wife it was Peter kissing her thighs, and using his tongue in sinful places. It enraged him to think about it, because Peter wouldn’t treat her like a lady. He would treat her like a whore who needed more than her husband's loving hands. He would use her and bring out something dark and lustful from his innocent wife until Alexander could no longer satisfy her.

Katerina would arch and beg for Peter, and Alexander would remember his place was no longer in the bedroom when she cried out his name instead of her husband's.

That is when he would spill his worthless seed in his wife, shaking from the shock of his debauched fantasy, and Katerina would hold him like he was her husband and not a wretched pervert.

Then the next time he would see Peter Stamatin he would smile at him like he knew Alexander's dirty little secret.