R's Place

cw ⌇ limousine sex ◞ oral f.receiving

The limousine door shut behind you with a soft, mechanical hiss, sealing out the noise of the city. The cabin was dim, lit only by the glow of passing headlights and the soft ambient lights embedded in the ceiling. The silence inside was thick.

Kaiser sat beside you in his suit, legs spread slightly, posture relaxed but tense in the smallest ways. His hands rested on his thighs, but you could see the way his fingers flexed. He was watching you.

The evening’s event had left you dressed in a figure-hugging gown, deep blue silk clinging to every curve. The neckline dipped low, revealing the elegant line of your collarbones and the soft swell of your chest. One leg was crossed over the other, the slit in your dress exposing skin from midthigh to ankle. You knew what you looked like, more so how you felt under his gaze, powerful and desired.

You turned your head and met his eyes. He didn’t say anything. He reached for you slowly, and let his fingertips graze your thigh just above the slit in your dress. His touch was warm, goosebumps spreading across your skin. When you didn’t pull away, he slid his hand higher, easing your legs apart with a gentle but possessive grip.

His breath hitched softly, and you exhaled, your eyes never leaving his.

Kaiser moved toward you. His hand lifted the hem of your gown, baring the soft skin of your inner thighs. His other hand reached for his tie, loosening it with a practiced flick of his fingers, eyes darkening with every inch of exposed skin he uncovered. He knelt between your legs in the plush seat, the heat of his body radiating against yours. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties you lifted your hips, letting him slide them down without resistance.

Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to you. The first stroke of his tongue was slow, deep and utterly unhurried. His mouth worshipped your cunt with quiet reverence, like he had all the time in the world to taste you and would still never get enough.

His hands held your thighs open, thumbs pressing into the softest parts of you, while his tongue traced lazy, teasing patterns over your clit. You bit your lip to stifle the moan building in your throat.

The movement of the car rocked you gently, only adding to the surreal, breathless pleasure of the moment. Outside the city passed in a blur of light and motion. Inside your world narrowed down to the feel of Kaiser’s mouth and the heat building in your belly.

He glanced up at you with half-lidded eyes, his lips slick with your arousal. The way he looked at you then, full of hunger and control, made your breath catch in your chest.

You came with a soft gasp, thighs trembling against his grip, your hips lifting into his mouth as your climax rolled through you in slow, aching waves. Kaiser didn’t stop until your legs were weak and your hands clutched at his shoulders, needing something to anchor yourself to.

Only then did he rise, kissing the inside of your knee one last time before sliding his hands up your body and capturing your mouth with his. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as his hands settled on your waist. The heat between your legs hadn’t lessened. It had only shifted. His cock was hard, pressing against the inside of his slacks, straining for release.

You reached down, unfastening his belt. Once you freed him, he guided you back against the leather seat and pushed your dress up to your waist. With a breathless pause, he positioned himself between your legs and slid into you in one slow, fluid motion.

You both exhaled at the same time. The stretch of him filled you so completely that your head tipped back against the seat. He began to move, thrusting into you with deep, smooth strokes. His pace was steady, sensual, driven by something quieter than lust. Something that felt far more dangerous.

The air around you pulsed with heat. His fingers dug into your hips, his forehead dropping to yours, breath brushing against your cheek. Every thrust made your body arch into his, and still, neither of you spoke. There were only soft, desperate sounds. The wet slide of his cock inside you, the low grunts in his throat, the way your breath caught every time he hit that perfect angle.

You came again, this time slower, a drawn-out high that left you shaking beneath him. Kaiser followed not long after, spilling deep inside you with a trembling moan against your neck. He stayed inside you for a long moment, breathing hard, one hand resting on your thigh as if he couldn’t bear to let you go just yet.

When he finally pulled back, he smoothed your dress down gently and reached out to brush a finger down your cheek. You looked up at him, still flushed and dazed, but he only smiled.

N.K. Jemisin's article 'Describing characters of color in writing'

Mary Anne Mohanraj's article on approaching characters of colour

Renee Harleston's article How to 'Write Characters of Color Without Using Stereotypes'

Working with Colour, a resource site for writers

the book Writing the Other by by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward, which had a description that cut deep, because I've definitely fallen into this trap out of fear:

and then a video recommended by @sheprd (thank you!) about pitfalls in descriptive language

I haven't gotten my hands on Writing the Other yet (it's still in the mail!) but from reading my way through these articles and watching the Princess Weekes video, I now understand that 'white-ifying' a character you're worried about is a lazy and cowardly solution. so, if I do ever finish the book Eres loses Everything, I'll keep her as is, do my best to be thoughtful, and hire a sensitivity reader to pick out any blind spots.

Writing Diversely FAQ

Writing With Colour blog

A conversation between many writers on writing diverse characters

Four Tips to Help You Incorporate Diversity and Inclusion in Your Writing

Isagi wasn’t a stranger to pressure. He thrived in it. He liked the way the air thinned when the clock hit the eighty-ninth minute, the way his Meta Vision turned the world into a grid of vectors and vulnerabilities. But right now, his peripheral vision was useless. The only thing he could see, the only thing he could process, was the way your weight felt pinned against him in the dim light of his room.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back against the headboard, still wearing his Bastard München training shorts. You were straddling him, your knees dug into the mattress on either side of his hips. You weren’t moving fast. You were grinding, slow and deliberate, your denim shorts rubbing against the thin polyester of his gear.

"Isagi," you whispered, your breath hot against the shell of his ear. "You're so tense. Are you still thinking about the match?"

He wasn't. He couldn't. His hands were locked onto your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft, give-and-take of your skin. He had a thing for thighs, it was a byproduct of his obsession with balance and center of gravity. He knew the power stored there, the way a strong set of legs could dictate a game. But your thighs weren't for sprinting; they were for clamping around his waist and ruining his composure.

"kindly shut up," he breathed, his voice rasping. He squeezed your legs, his thumbs tracing the line where your shorts ended. "Keep doing that."

You chuckled, a low, vibrating sound that went straight to his crotch. You leaned in closer, your lips grazing his earlobe as you rocked your pelvis forward, dragging your heat right over the hard length of his cock trapped behind his shorts. "Doing what? This?" You shifted, your clit catching the ridge of him through the fabric.

"Ngh-" Isagi’s head hit the headboard. His eyes went wide, his pupils blown out until the blue was just a thin, frantic ring. "Yeah. Just like that."

"You like how I feel on you, Yoichi? All wet and heavy?" You leaned down, your teeth catching on his neck. "I bet you want to see it. I bet you want to see how much of a mess I’m making for you."

He didn't answer with words. He couldn't. He just gripped your thighs harder, his knuckles turning white. He was visualizing it, the way he visualized a goal path. He saw the friction, the heat, the way your body was reacting to his. He felt the dampness soaking through your underwear, the friction of your pussy grinding against his stiffening cock.

"Take them off," he managed to choke out. "Now."

You didn't make him wait. You slid off him just long enough to kick your shorts and lace panties aside. Isagi didn't even wait for you to get back on. He reached out, his hand finding the slick, swollen fold of your labia. He let out a sharp, jagged breath when his fingers came away shimmering. You were fucking dripping.

He shoved his training shorts down his legs, his cock springing free, red-rimmed and leaking pre-cum. It throbbed, a rhythmic, demanding pulse that matched the frantic beat of his heart. When you climbed back over him, you didn't go for the kill immediately. You sat back on your heels, letting the tip of his dick rest right against your opening.

"Look at me," you commanded.

Isagi looked. He was analytical by nature, always dissecting, always finding the point of impact. He watched the way his cock looked against you, darker, thick, the vein down the side bulging. He watched as you lowered yourself, the head of his dick disappearing into the tight, soaking grip of your pussy.

"Ah... fuck," he groaned, his eyes snapping shut as his body flooded with the sensation. You were so hot inside, a crushing, wet heat that felt like it was trying to swallow him whole.

You didn't start a rhythm yet. You just sat there, fully impaled, your walls twitching and clamping around him. "Tell me how it feels," you whispered, leaning down to lick a stripe up his throat. "Tell me you're mine."

Isagi’s ego, the one that screamed at teammates and devoured rivals, was focused entirely on the friction. "It feels... tight. You're fucking crushing me," he panted, his hands sliding up from your thighs to your waist, pulling you down harder. "You're so wet, I can hear it. Every time you move, it just... squelches."

To prove his point, he bucked his hips upward. The sound was unmistakable, a wet, suctioning 'slap' of skin against skin, the sound of his cock sliding through an excess of your juices.

"Ngh, ahh~" you moaned, your head falling onto his shoulder.

Isagi took control. He didn't know how to play any other way. He gripped your hips and started to drive upward, his movements sharp and clinical at first, searching for the angle that made your breath hitch the loudest. He found it when he tilted his pelvis, his glans rubbing directly against your G-spot with every thrust.

"There," he muttered, his voice dropping into that dark, predatory register he saved for the pitch. "That’s the spot, isn't it?"

He started to hammer into you, his pace increasing until the bed was creaking rhythmically against the wall. The room was filled with the sound of it, the heavy, wet friction of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, the frantic gasps you were making into his ear. He was buried deep, bottoming out with every shove, his balls slapping against your clit.

"Yoichi, wait-I'm... I'm gonna-"

"Don't wait," he growled, his teeth baring in a feral grin. He reached down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, which was already swollen and sensitive from the friction. He started to rub it in fast, circular motions, syncing the pressure with his upward thrusts.

The combination was too much. You screamed, your back arching as your internal muscles went into a violent, rhythmic spasm. You were clamping down on him so hard it hurt, but Isagi didn't back off. He drove in one last time, buried to the hilt, as a gush of fluid erupted from you.

"Fuck, you're squirting," he hissed, the feeling of the hot spray hitting the base of his cock and his thighs sending him over the edge. "You're fucking... soaking me."

The sight of it, the way your body was losing control, the way you were falling apart under him, was the ultimate victory. He felt his own climax building, a pressure at the base of his spine that he couldn't hold back. He gripped your thighs one last time, his fingers bruising the skin, and let out a low, gutteral roar as he shot his load deep inside you.

He pulsed inside you, wave after wave of heat filling your womb, his eyes fixed on yours. He watched the light come back into your pupils, watched the way you drifted back to reality.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized thud of two hearts and the wet, rhythmic drip of his cum and your juices hitting the sheets.

Isagi exhaled, his forehead dropping against yours. His Meta Vision was gone. The grid was gone. There was only the weight of you, the smell of sex and sweat, and the absolute, egoistic satisfaction of having won.

"Again," he whispered, his hands sliding back down to your thighs. "In five minutes. Again."

every page here belongs to its author.

please don't repost, redistribute,

or feed these stories into ai.

with love,