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said_scarlett) wrote2007-07-26 12:12 am
said_scarlett) wrote2007-07-26 12:12 am
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fma_fuh_q Fic For July!
Clearly my creativity has come back!
Title: The Dynamics of Sin
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theladyfeylene
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Fuhrer King Bradley/Sloth
Spoilers: Pretty much full series
Word Count: 1377
Summary: There were all manner of power struggles, some more pleasant than others.
There was a vast difference between Pride and Fuhrer King Bradley. King Bradley was pleasant, charming, jovial and affectionate. King Bradley was a family man, a caring leader, a ‘stand up guy’ as the soldiers would say. King Bradley was nothing but a persona, a caricature spawned from Pride and their master’s imaginations.
Sloth didn’t honestly like King Bradley all that much. Nor did she like Pride, but that was beside the point. One hardly needed to like the people one worked with. Or for, rather. And it was amusing, seeing how Pride played his role. He enjoyed the duplicity. He enjoyed presenting this front of a man who was as real as stardust. And he liked to push the boundaries, to see how far he could go. But he knew enough never to go too far.
Sloth had little choice but to play his games. She was playing the same game, in a way, though there were little differences between Sloth and Juliet Douglas. Both were quiet, direct, blunt and calculating. They were different clothes, answered to different names, but they were essentially the same.
Sloth wondered who it was really who was kneeling beneath the Fuhrer’s desk. Was it Sloth or Juliet? She didn’t particularly care. He called her Juliet when he asked her into his office, called her Juliet when he teased her gently, when he patted his knee and invited her to sit. He called her his naughty secretary. It was always the Fuhrer who flirted with her, who kissed her, who enticed her. But it was Pride who pushed her down onto her knees, or bent her over his desk and hiked up her skirt. But he always called her Juliet.
She could hear the babble of voices from above, some meeting on accounts and diverting funds. The Fuhrer was steering the conversation smoothly, giving no indication that his secretary was beneath his desk, his cock in her mouth. And Sloth was certainly giving little thought to her task - she’d done this a dozen times before. She worked with a near mechanical precision, licking, suckling, squeezing gently. Her legs were beginning to cramp. Did she have breath mints in her purse? She supposed she should feel jilted that she got little pleasure from these encounters. Her own hand was between her legs, but it was cramped beneath the desk and she couldn’t move her hand very well. And the edge of her panties was digging into her wrist. It wasn’t worth it to try and pleasure herself now - if she truly needed the release, she could simply stop into the lady’s room afterwards.
She’d need to wash her face anyway.
Sloth cracked her jaw, pausing a moment in her task. She knew she couldn’t rest long - Pride was very particular. She shifted, catching his cock between her lips once more and taking him in as far as she could manage. She supposed she should be glad he wasn’t a sadist like Envy - a lover who never stayed dead presented far too many creative opportunities for her to ever willingly bed that sin. Perhaps Pride was distant and controlling, but there were worse things to deal with in a lover. When he used her cunt he was actually quite good - he was well endowed and forceful, the way she liked it. And his hands felt good on her breasts, especially when he pushed her facedown onto his desk and gripped them, lifting her back up against him while he took her.
Now she regretted that she couldn’t move her hand in a way to properly stimulate herself. Thinking about it was getting her excited. Perhaps she could have it both ways today. She slowed her ministrations, teasing, drawing it out. How long would this meeting last? She wanted him inside of her.
Finally, finally she heard the exchanges of pleasantries that signaled things were at an end. Footsteps, the door opening and closing….
Sloth let Pride’s erection slip from her lips and wiggled out from under the desk.
“I’m not finished,” he said, arching an eyebrow at her.
“You’re taking a long time. Perhaps something else?”
He chuckled. It was the Fuhrer’s chuckle.
“Perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps you should tell me exactly what else, hmm?”
Ah. He wanted to play this game, then.
“Nothing your wife would approve of, I’m sure.” Sloth sat on the desk, perching on the edge. Her mind was elsewhere, her body was working on its own. It knew what to do. The words and actions came easily enough.
“My wife doesn’t approve of much, I’m afraid. But you’ll need to be more specific than that, my dear.”
“I suppose I could show you…”
“But I’d so very much like to hear it.”
Power struggles. They were everywhere. It really was tedious. And sex was such a cliché way of exerting ones power and attempting to humiliate someone else. Sloth was proud of herself in that sense - she had no shame. Why should she? She knew full well she was smarter than Pride, and more powerful if pushed. They didn’t know that, but that served her purposes. Let the others be loud and violent - that only went so far.
“Of course, sir.” Sloth - or Juliet, rather, because she was the Fuhrer’s secretary now - blushed a bit and dipped her head. She could pretend to be embarrassed, it was what he wanted. He wanted to remind her where her place was, as well as remind himself of his. “I want you to take my clothes off and take me over your desk. I want to feel you inside me.”
Which she did. Not because she had any attraction to Pride, but because she was in need of anything inside her. He chuckled again, and reached for her. He grabbed her roughly, shoving up her skirt and pulling open her blouse. Her bra snapped, her breasts spilled free. He was rough with her, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he pushed her onto her back onto the desk when she preferred him to take her from behind. She didn’t care that he shoved her legs up and out and caused something to pull painfully in her thigh. He wasn’t joking or laughing now, he wasn’t pretending to be King Bradley. Pride was there in full, as cold and calculating as she was.
He entered her in one quick thrust, holding her ankles in a manner that was almost offhanded. His expression was practically bored. Now he was the one who was miles away, not thinking about what he was doing. A small and bitter part of her mind wondered if he’d be so distant if it were Lust spread out on his desk for him - men always did lose themselves over a pair of large breasts.
But it really didn’t matter. This was what she had wanted, and she bucked against him and reached between her own legs to rub at that sensitive spot that he probably didn’t even know existed, let alone ever paid any attention to. Between his hard thrusts and her own deft manipulations, she came quickly, her head thrown back and her breasts shaking and her lips pressed into a narrow line.
He continued to take her, grunting lowly until he pulled out and stroked himself in two quick movements onto her stomach. She narrowed her eyes in anger when she felt the first warm drops, her teeth clenched together tightly. He was smiling, grinning in a knowing manner as he jacked himself off onto her.
“That was uncalled for.”
And she knew exactly why he’d done it. It was just another little move in their power struggle, a reminder that she was the subordinate. But it was uncalled for.
“Perhaps.” He was tucking himself back into his trousers, the Fuhrer once more. “But I can say with complete certainty, my wife wouldn’t at all approve.”
Title: The Dynamics of Sin
Author:
theladyfeyleneRating: NC-17
Pairing: Fuhrer King Bradley/Sloth
Spoilers: Pretty much full series
Word Count: 1377
Summary: There were all manner of power struggles, some more pleasant than others.
There was a vast difference between Pride and Fuhrer King Bradley. King Bradley was pleasant, charming, jovial and affectionate. King Bradley was a family man, a caring leader, a ‘stand up guy’ as the soldiers would say. King Bradley was nothing but a persona, a caricature spawned from Pride and their master’s imaginations.
Sloth didn’t honestly like King Bradley all that much. Nor did she like Pride, but that was beside the point. One hardly needed to like the people one worked with. Or for, rather. And it was amusing, seeing how Pride played his role. He enjoyed the duplicity. He enjoyed presenting this front of a man who was as real as stardust. And he liked to push the boundaries, to see how far he could go. But he knew enough never to go too far.
Sloth had little choice but to play his games. She was playing the same game, in a way, though there were little differences between Sloth and Juliet Douglas. Both were quiet, direct, blunt and calculating. They were different clothes, answered to different names, but they were essentially the same.
Sloth wondered who it was really who was kneeling beneath the Fuhrer’s desk. Was it Sloth or Juliet? She didn’t particularly care. He called her Juliet when he asked her into his office, called her Juliet when he teased her gently, when he patted his knee and invited her to sit. He called her his naughty secretary. It was always the Fuhrer who flirted with her, who kissed her, who enticed her. But it was Pride who pushed her down onto her knees, or bent her over his desk and hiked up her skirt. But he always called her Juliet.
She could hear the babble of voices from above, some meeting on accounts and diverting funds. The Fuhrer was steering the conversation smoothly, giving no indication that his secretary was beneath his desk, his cock in her mouth. And Sloth was certainly giving little thought to her task - she’d done this a dozen times before. She worked with a near mechanical precision, licking, suckling, squeezing gently. Her legs were beginning to cramp. Did she have breath mints in her purse? She supposed she should feel jilted that she got little pleasure from these encounters. Her own hand was between her legs, but it was cramped beneath the desk and she couldn’t move her hand very well. And the edge of her panties was digging into her wrist. It wasn’t worth it to try and pleasure herself now - if she truly needed the release, she could simply stop into the lady’s room afterwards.
She’d need to wash her face anyway.
Sloth cracked her jaw, pausing a moment in her task. She knew she couldn’t rest long - Pride was very particular. She shifted, catching his cock between her lips once more and taking him in as far as she could manage. She supposed she should be glad he wasn’t a sadist like Envy - a lover who never stayed dead presented far too many creative opportunities for her to ever willingly bed that sin. Perhaps Pride was distant and controlling, but there were worse things to deal with in a lover. When he used her cunt he was actually quite good - he was well endowed and forceful, the way she liked it. And his hands felt good on her breasts, especially when he pushed her facedown onto his desk and gripped them, lifting her back up against him while he took her.
Now she regretted that she couldn’t move her hand in a way to properly stimulate herself. Thinking about it was getting her excited. Perhaps she could have it both ways today. She slowed her ministrations, teasing, drawing it out. How long would this meeting last? She wanted him inside of her.
Finally, finally she heard the exchanges of pleasantries that signaled things were at an end. Footsteps, the door opening and closing….
Sloth let Pride’s erection slip from her lips and wiggled out from under the desk.
“I’m not finished,” he said, arching an eyebrow at her.
“You’re taking a long time. Perhaps something else?”
He chuckled. It was the Fuhrer’s chuckle.
“Perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps you should tell me exactly what else, hmm?”
Ah. He wanted to play this game, then.
“Nothing your wife would approve of, I’m sure.” Sloth sat on the desk, perching on the edge. Her mind was elsewhere, her body was working on its own. It knew what to do. The words and actions came easily enough.
“My wife doesn’t approve of much, I’m afraid. But you’ll need to be more specific than that, my dear.”
“I suppose I could show you…”
“But I’d so very much like to hear it.”
Power struggles. They were everywhere. It really was tedious. And sex was such a cliché way of exerting ones power and attempting to humiliate someone else. Sloth was proud of herself in that sense - she had no shame. Why should she? She knew full well she was smarter than Pride, and more powerful if pushed. They didn’t know that, but that served her purposes. Let the others be loud and violent - that only went so far.
“Of course, sir.” Sloth - or Juliet, rather, because she was the Fuhrer’s secretary now - blushed a bit and dipped her head. She could pretend to be embarrassed, it was what he wanted. He wanted to remind her where her place was, as well as remind himself of his. “I want you to take my clothes off and take me over your desk. I want to feel you inside me.”
Which she did. Not because she had any attraction to Pride, but because she was in need of anything inside her. He chuckled again, and reached for her. He grabbed her roughly, shoving up her skirt and pulling open her blouse. Her bra snapped, her breasts spilled free. He was rough with her, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he pushed her onto her back onto the desk when she preferred him to take her from behind. She didn’t care that he shoved her legs up and out and caused something to pull painfully in her thigh. He wasn’t joking or laughing now, he wasn’t pretending to be King Bradley. Pride was there in full, as cold and calculating as she was.
He entered her in one quick thrust, holding her ankles in a manner that was almost offhanded. His expression was practically bored. Now he was the one who was miles away, not thinking about what he was doing. A small and bitter part of her mind wondered if he’d be so distant if it were Lust spread out on his desk for him - men always did lose themselves over a pair of large breasts.
But it really didn’t matter. This was what she had wanted, and she bucked against him and reached between her own legs to rub at that sensitive spot that he probably didn’t even know existed, let alone ever paid any attention to. Between his hard thrusts and her own deft manipulations, she came quickly, her head thrown back and her breasts shaking and her lips pressed into a narrow line.
He continued to take her, grunting lowly until he pulled out and stroked himself in two quick movements onto her stomach. She narrowed her eyes in anger when she felt the first warm drops, her teeth clenched together tightly. He was smiling, grinning in a knowing manner as he jacked himself off onto her.
“That was uncalled for.”
And she knew exactly why he’d done it. It was just another little move in their power struggle, a reminder that she was the subordinate. But it was uncalled for.
“Perhaps.” He was tucking himself back into his trousers, the Fuhrer once more. “But I can say with complete certainty, my wife wouldn’t at all approve.”