Does that make it KinkinValentine? (Edit: After publishing the blog, I went back to share the link and guess what? It’s called Kinkentine! I’m oblivious, don’t mind me.)
Oh, hell no. That’s way too awkward. laughs
Hi! How are you?
I am just finishing up Tied to the Beat. It is almost ready for publishing – which is good, given that the deadline is the tenth. 😬 While I am doing that, I also signed up with my newest writing friends on Discord to participate in a writing prompt challenge and I decided to share them with you. (All. First. Drafts. Remember that, yeah? Be kind!)
This is yesterday’s prompt: Naught Teacher/Professor. I put my own interpretation on that.
I’d have published it yesterday but I had shots AND a migraine. Every intention I had of completing anything disappeared because I passed out when I got home yesterday afternoon.
I will write more on Leather Persuasion tomorrow. For now, enjoy!
Rowena wakes up groggy and cold with the sound of weird music in her ears. She reaches for her blanket and rolls over whilst she shouts at her roommate to turn the damn music off.
“Wait…” she croaks to herself in the same hoarse voice the shout to her roommate came out in. She tries to lift her wrist again and finds it still beside her head. She slowly opens her eyes and frowns in confusion. She doesn’t see the pale lavender ceiling of her bedroom; nor does she see her nightlight shining stars on her ceiling by her bathroom door. She sees stalagmites…stalagtites? Pointy rock thingies. She’s too tired to remember.
They’re hanging from a huge vaulted stone ceiling that sparkles like Rowena’s inside a geode of ruby. For a moment, she lays there in awe. Then she remembers that her wrist is too heavy and it won’t move. She turns her head to look at the traitorous thing and finds it surrounded by an iron shackle. “Is it..?” She rolls her eyes. “Yup, it’s attached to a chain,” she mutters to herself.
Rowena’s peripheral vision shows her something else, too:
Her bed is suddenly the same glittery red as the ceiling.
“What the fucoxanthin?” She scowls as she notices that it’s kind of prickly and itchy against her back. “What the fuchsine is going on?” The whisper is hoarse still but now it’s wavery, too. She lifts her head to look down her body, squinting as her eyes strain to focus.
“I do not sleep nude!” She blushes from her toes to her nose.
The music around her gets louder and changes tone. Some of the words seem to change, too. Vaguely alarmed by now – but more and more convinced she’s dreaming – Rowena expands her perspective and squints harder.
“They were rather cute pyjamas,” says a warm, friendly voice by her side. “I’m partial to kitty cats, though.”
Her head whips around and she looks up. “Professor Roger?” She peers up at her fashion design TA. “What are you doing in my dream?”
“Dream?” Roger offers a gawky, if sweet, smile. “This is no dream. Here, let me prove it.” He lifts a large and really alarmingly, she thought, sharp knife. He lowers it towards her and flicks it at her arm.
“I didn’t feel anything.’
“Just watch,” he says with a small gesture at her arm.
Rowena watches, wide-eyed, as the flesh on her arm parts and blood begins to bead, well up, then run around the curve of her arm to drip on the rock bed. When the third drop of blood hits the bed, the pain hits her brain. “Owww!” she screams.
“That hurt, didn’t it. I am sorry,” Roger says soothingly, as he pats her chest, making her right tit jiggle. “We had to be sure you understood it’s not a dream.”
“Yup. The other profs and I.” He gestures around him. “We’re all here. We need you to be the good little student you are.” He leans down and whispers, “You are a virgin, yes?” At her shaky nod, he continues, “Good,” he says as he nods and gives someone a thumbs up.
Roger smiles brightly. “Let’s get on with things!” He idly slides the side of the knife up and down her body as he talks. “Look, I don’t want you to die, should you die, in ignorance and fear, so this is what’s going on. We are summoning a demon to do our bidding but he needs to be kept happy. That,” he taps her on the pussy with the flat of the blade, “my young friend, is your job. We need a little more blood to get his attention then you keep him happy with your tight, unused little cunt and we get what we want.”
Rowena is dumbfounded. Demons? Actual virgin sacrifice? “It must be a dream. Sure, Roger, whatever.”
Looking delighted, Roger gives her an approving pat on the breast. “Excellent. Now, like I said, we just need a little more blood. You know how sharp the knife is; you won’t feel a thing… at first.” He moves around what she realizes now is an altar and the knife flashes in the strange light.
He was right, she muses, she didn’t feel anything. Not at first. Nothing but the warm flow of her blood. Then the burn of her blood.
“There we go!” Roger comes over and looks down at her. “He’ll be along any moment. He’s going to look a little terrifying but don’t let that be off-putting, I hear that he’s got a lovely cock. You’re going to enjoy it.”
“Sh-sh-sure…” Rowena stutters as blackness crowds around the edges of her vision.
Seconds later, there’s a loud clap of noise like the boom of thunder directly overhead. Several people scream, in spite of themselves.
There’s a lot of smoke that smells like brimstone and lavender.
“Lavender?” gets muttered a lot. In confusion, mostly. There are a couple of women who appreciate it, especially when they see what steps out of the smoke.
It’s Adonis, but eight feet tall. Broad shoulders, narrow hips. Biceps the size of watermelons. An ass you want to make a meal out of. Forget six-pack, this guy had a twelve-pack. He was enormous. And he was so handsome with his shoulder-length, layered, wavy chestnut hair, chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones and never-been-broken nose, that you didn’t really see the horns curving out of that hair. Nor did you happen to notice that his skin was red.
At least that part of Hellboy is right, Rowena thinks to herself with a giggle right before her eye (and the eyes of every woman and all the gay men) is drawn to the loincloth he wears.
The demon strides up to the altar, ignoring Roger, who is trying to talk to him, and looks down at Rowena. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head just before he puts his hands on the cuts on her ankles. The split flesh closes and knits back together.
Not a pleasant experience for Rowena and she lets him know it but cussing at him in at least 2 of the languages she knows.
He just smiles and moves to the head of the altar to lay hands on the wounds on her wrists. She curses again, he smiles again.
“Come now, Rowena, you’ve never complained so loudly before.” He undoes her shackles.
The professors get quiet.
“It’s never been quite so deep before. That bloody knife (see what I did there? Huh?),” she grins in the middle of her complaint as she points out the wordplay, “is damn sharp and he’s a moron.”
Roger immediately drops the knife.
“Anyway,” Rowena says as she looks up at the demon. “It’s lovely to see you, Jerry, love.”
“A pleasure to see you, baby. It’s been too long.” Jerry the Demon scoops up Rowena and kisses her stupid.
Several professors, having caught on that this is not going their way, try running for the door.
Rowena flings out a hand and lightning crackles from the ceiling. It zaps not only the fleeing profs but the door, melting it into an amorphous, immovable blob that seals them into the chamber.
She breaks the kiss and looks at Jerry. “They thought I was a virgin.”
He chuckles. “Well, you kind of are. This form you’ve taken on hasn’t had sex.”
Giggling, Rowena indicates that she wants down. Once she’s on the ground she rolls her shoulders and cracks her knuckles. “What should we do with them?”
“What did they want?”
Rowena looks at Roger. “What did you want from Jerry?”
“M-m-money. S-s-some w-w-want fame thr-through p-p-publishing.”
“Greed.” Rowena states.
Jerry nods. “Into the pit with them.”
“Let’s have a little fun first,” Rowena pleads. “They left me for you to rape.” She starts removing her hair like it’s a wig, then peels her face off. As she does, the rest of her skin follows and she grows until she’s a few inches shorter than Jerry, stacked like the most typical male wet dream, with pale blonde hair. “Shall we start with Roger?”
Jerry grins. “Let’s roger Roger!” He points at the others, now huddled by the ruined door. “Let’s put them in some semblance of order though, shall we? Make this a spectator sport.”
Rowena claps with glee and then
zaps orders all the other professors into a row sitting on the edge of the open pit. She turns to Roger. “Professor Wannabe, or is it Wannabe Professor? Either way, off with your clothes!”
“I..I.. uh..I..” Roger doesn’t know what to do. He is terrified and yet… she smells like sex and his cock is raging, desperate for contact.
Jerry rolls his eyes, walks over to Roger, grabs the front of his robe in one hand, the back in the other and simply tears it asunder.
Rowena and Jerry start laughing. “That is what you’ve been trying to stick into all us girls?” Rowena gasps out through the laughter.
Roger looks down. Seven inches but barely an inch across. At it’s hardest. He sighs, tears in his eyes.
“Oh well, I guess we’ll make do. It’ll be good for opening his ass up with.”
“I agree. You have a monster there; his will be a nice little start.”
Roger blinks as the exchange filters through his brain and he starts to figure out what they meant. He backed up, hands over his groin. “No! No no no!”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Rowena says soothingly as she approaches him as you would a scared animal, “we won’t let you bleed to death.” She pumps out the pheromones until he’s swaying.
She reaches him and turns him around, locks him into place against her. “Go ahead, Jerry. Rip it off.”