this is why we live

sexy is so hot.

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Permalink warmfairiesheart: trampled-rose: rolledtrousers: He had a habit of treating her with the nonchalance of a tailor, some thing to be inspected, mended and put away in its rightful place. He’d pick her up, turn her over, workman’s hands, calloused and callous running over her soft skin, finding all the places that made her bite her lip. He wouldn’t speak, and his face was one of deep concentration. The focus of manual labour. Getting it done, but not thinking about it all that much. He knew all her spots. He’d mapped them months ago. And she liked being handled like this; it made her feel subjugated in all the right ways. She would squirm, sometimes, but a quick slap against her rear was enough to keep her still. He would inspect, he would work, and she would let him. Because there was really no other alternative. To resist would be beyond futile; it would be a betrayal. It would defeat the purpose. His purpose. And she didn’t want to be that victor. “You feel different.” He’d murmured it one day, confused to find a new blemish on his favourite toy. A soft purple bruise, on the outside of one her thighs. She cleared her throat, speech at a time like this feeling alien. “I knocked my leg…” She narrows her eyes, thinking. “On the corner of the upstairs table.” He narrowed his own, staring down at her. His finger traced over the small spot, applying a little pressure. She winced. He wasn’t unfamiliar with bruises on her. But something not inflicted by him was an oddity, and it seemed unwelcome, something that he didn’t have control over. His confusion was almost worrying. But then he pushed down harder, before bringing his hand down with force against it. She yelped, squirming away from him, but he smiled and reached down, rubbing her leg with tender care. “Now it’s mine.” He muttered, watching the skin inflame ever so slightly. (via) (via) (via)
Permalink spring-it-on-me: Wow! What a beautiful shot! vanillasighs:
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