#zel writes

“Look at you,” he grunted, eyes meeting yours. His hand slid under your chin, raising your head up slightly. “So beautiful, baby.” He praised, thumb gently stroking your cheek.

Your mouth was hanging open, tongue out. At his instruction. He chuckled, wiping away a line of drool at the corner of your lips. “So fucking hot.” He grunted, “My little slut on her knees for me, mouth hanging open and waiting patiently for my cock,” You whimpered at his words, not feeling that patient.

He had stripped you bare, hands and mouth all over your exposed flesh. While usually he was careful with marking you places where others could see, he had peppered the skin of your breasts, stomach, and hips with little bitten bruises.

You loved looking at those marks the next day, seeing the evidence of being his painted over your skin.

Once he was satisfied with his bites, you were already aching for him. He had further teased you, spreading your pussy lips as his tongue danced around, licking everywhere but your clit. Where you needed him the most.

Afterward, he slid a sleek toy inside of you. The grin on his face was downright sinful as he leaned back, taunting you with the remote control.

Since then, he toyed with you. Using that remote toy to tease you, taunting you with pleasure that he quickly ripped away from you.

“What do you want, baby?” He asked, pushing a button to increase the vibrations between your legs. You moaned out your response, hands clenched into fists at your side. “None of that,” he tsked, grabbing you by your chin. “Use your words.”

The vibrations lowered some, and you whined at the loss. “I want to suck your cock,” you mumbled, trying to even out your breathing before he increased the toy once more.

He grinned at you, stroking your cheek once more with his thumb. “Good girl.” He praised, causing you to beam. You loved being his good girl, being good for him. “Go ahead, baby. Suck my cock. Make me come down that pretty throat of yours and I might think about letting you come.”

You eagerly wrapped your lips around him, swallowing him down. Bracing yourself by placing your hands on his thighs. His hands gripped your hair, using it as he fucked your face.

You moaned around his length, taking in as much of him as you could. His grunts only encouraged you, as you drooled around his cock, tasting and pleasuring your boyfriend with your mouth.

He groaned, praising you by your name as he came inside your mouth. The taste of him hit your tongue as you swallowed him down, looking up at him with lustful eyes.

“My perfect girl.” He praised, chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, collecting the drool that lingered. “Such a good little slut, baby.”

You whimpered at his praise, those words just adding to the dripping mess between your legs. You got your reward as he clicked a button on the remote, vibrations increasing.

You moaned his name, head falling backward as the little toy buzzed inside of you. With each vibration, you were pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Just on the brink of an orgasm, the toy had stopped. You groaned in protest, eyes opened as you looked at him.

“No. No. No.” you whined, wigging your hips hoping to entice him into changing his mind. You were so fucking close. “Please!”

He crotched down, reaching between your legs to grab the toy. You whimpered at the loss of it. “I only told you I’d think about letting you come, baby.” He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips before raising the toy to his mouth to lick your juices off of it, groaning at the taste.

part 1: every beginning is an ending

Mira’s life began with death.

She was so young, then. She couldn’t remember if the sky had been clear or clouded, though she was almost sure it had not rained in a day or two. She remembered the girl that was with her, but the shape of her face in her mind coalesced into someone older and more world-weary whenever she sought to rouse the dregs of her past. The day was cast mostly in negatives; it wasn’t raining because if it had been raining, the smoke probably wouldn’t have stuck so thickly in her throat, and the fires would not have taken so quickly to the brush; if there had been anything meaningful at all about the day, perhaps she would still remember her mother’s voice, or her father’s face. In fact, all she could remember was smoke, the orange of the evening sky cascading down upon the forest and setting it ablaze, and the sound of screaming as she approached. She remembered how the little girl sobbed into her chest.

There had been shouting, some pitched in such a way that could have been fear, mixed sporadically with growls and cackles as a frenzy of mad beasts descending upon carion. She was holding something important when she and the girl first heard the noise, but she had thrown it aside to run as fast as she could towards the wailing sobs and shouts of her people.

Her clan had been nomads, she remembered from a myriad distant nights each spent under a new canvas of stars, so it was hard to say exactly what changed between when she left, and when she came back. By the time she and the girl returned, she had the unshakable sense that things were wrong even before the weight of what was happening truly struck her; the basket that fit just so in her little hands was absent from its place by the cooking pot, the shawl she had been weaving under guidance from the tsahik, her mother, was partially untethered from the stretcher they had been using to craft it. It was hard to focus on the smaller details in her mind’s eye. She tried not to think about it too much for fear of inadvertently summoning one of the seemingly endless visages of death scattered throughout. Still, her memory stretched taut, beaten thin like leather over a drum.

Strange creatures moved around their camp, pallid faces covered in sheets of clear, polished stone, with vines that snaked across their bodies, connected to packs affixed to their waists. They were shouting too, but she couldn’t understand the jagged, unwieldy shapes of their words.

She was eykte, and her companion was even younger than she was, so she first tried to usher the her to the safety of the tree line they had just departed. The girl was three years her junior, but she was stocky and she would not be kept from running into camp at the sound of a guttural, sputtering cry that still rung in her ears whenever quiet weighed too heavily upon her. The older child had not understood why the girl ran so recklessly into the fray, not until years later when Zoey recalled that final, desperate call of her mother’s fwampop, which by then they knew better by the aliens’ name: tapirus.

One of the faceless aliens intercepted the younger girl and began binding her hands with a shiny, bright orange cord. The elder child ran to her, snarling with teeth bared, just for another alien to step between the child and her assailant. That alien she would come to know as Bobby. He spoke emphatically to his kin, tugging the younger girl out of its grasp and freeing her wrists. She was sobbing, loud and soul-wrenching, and thrashed away from Bobby’s touch as the older girl approached. She shielded the girl with her body as best she could manage because these were her people and she would keep them safe, even if her knees were shaking so terribly she could barely stand her own weight.

The alien Bobby crouched and beckoned the girls with open arms. There was no comfort of understanding his alien words, but he spoke sharply to any of the other masked creatures that came near them, and it was enough of a place to land that the two girls soon crumbled into the harbor he offered.

She held fast to the younger girl as the alien Bobby herded them towards an even stranger creature. It held itself rigid and inscrutable as one of these aliens, but it wore their skin and looked upon them with eyes that were so close to familiar as to be horrifically uncanny. It was tall, towering over Bobby and the girls with a presence of solid stone and steel.

They would come to know this as Celine’s avatar.