I'm a PDA autistic, made of 70% water and 100% trauma lmaoo. Proud transmasc enby and aego goth | They/Them | Digital artist/writer | Taken 💜🧡⛧⛧⛧P3301 organisation progress: Part 5 out of 7 [||||| ]
Currently organising notes (again)⛧⛧⛧If you can, please donate, commission me or sub to my Patreon. I work hard on my art + you get extras like speedpaints and progress shots 🖤

--PROTECT THE KIDS...from priests ✌️😌
--BLM ALWAYS
--Stop Asian hate ALWAYS
--Free Palestine ALWAYS
--LGBTQIA2S+ rights ALWAYS
--Reproductive rights ALWAYS
--Women's rights ALWAYS-----------------------

Go far away if you're a:
--Bigot of any stripe
--NFT/crypto/AI bro
--Proshitters - I use a lot of my art to heal parental trauma so ABSOLUTELY DO NOT interact with my stuff if you're into incest/bestiality/pedo shit!

~Working on~

~Finished Art~

Summary:
TW: Transphobic slurs, parental abuse
Alex receives a letter from his previously unaffirming younger sister who wants to see him again and apologise for the past. However, to achieve this, he'll have to face their abusive parents once more.

Alex had been kicked out so long ago for coming out. Very near his 17th birthday. He was left homeless, fending for himself while also trying so hard to hold onto the identity he had finally clawed from fate's hand. This lasted many nights--nights of scraping together enough to make at least one meal--if meagre--a day, being turned away at food shelves, searching for clean water and a safe place to sleep, finding shelter from the darkness, cold, heat, rain, hail, wind, and worst of all, the humans who saw and pitied and turned away, all while he watched his hair grow long again and desperately cut it, crudely, with the edge of a piece of glass from some broken wine bottle. He'd been so despondent, he'd pulled and hacked away, the glass just dull enough to make the effort draw tears to his eyes as it ripped at his hair. At one point he'd gashed his hand. That had cost him almost an entire 4 months' of money he'd managed to earn through various odd jobs so he could buy a proper scissors and bandages that weren't dirty.The more he lived like this, the more he realised no help was coming, and so why should he obey the laws? Or obey the conscience his mother and father had beaten into him? Over the course of several days, he cast off the religion that had been a weight around his neck for seventeen years. The self-hate, the jealousy, the depression, they'd all take a longer time to work through, but he would come out the other side of this stronger and better than all of them.From this point forward he stole from megastores and the megachurches and religious charities that pretended to give money to those like him but really spit in his face when he was literally in front of them begging. He wasn't the best at it at first. He was still so naïve from the years of being sheltered and forced to be dependent on his father until he found the husband he'd be given away to like property. Talking of, he realised he could steal a lot easier if he dressed like the girl they kept telling him he needed to be. He felt degraded by this. Like he was purposely putting on old, dead skin and zipping himself inside. And it took a toll on him until he couldn't do it anymore. Even while knowing and being able to live as who he really was, he was sick from putting back on make up and skirts and dresses and even growing out his hair and pretending to be the good little Catholic girl he used to be. But his suffering had paid off. In this time, he'd learnt practical things about nicking food and clean water and valuable things he could pawn off, like where all the security cameras were or if they were simply decoys, the days in which stores threw out perfectly good food and clothes, and so much more, he no longer needed to use charm and degrade himself to their level to get by.One night a megastore had thrown out perfectly good bottles of various drinks--wine coolers that were more sugar than alcohol, whiskeys that practically kicked your throat in, and some beers in between it all. He took what he could carry and brought it back to a little corner he'd made for himself. Tonight, he'd drink and celebrate. He was still alive and he had now fully cast off his old, dead identity. His parents couldn't have their beautiful, red-headed girl, the priests couldn't have their lustful eye-candy, and God couldn't have his perfect creation, made in his image.He was made in his own image now.While completely shitfaced later that night, Alex managed to stumble to a pay phone, put in his change and, by absolute miracle, dial an old private Catholic school teacher's number. This man had been a mentor, a surrogate father to him during his time in an all-girls' school he'd been forced to go to when younger. He was the only one who had seen him as the boy he had always wanted to be. Had always been. He had called him by his proper pronouns, used endearments like 'son' and 'lad' for him in replacement of his own biological father's harsh 'she' and 'that girl', let him wear the boys sleek uniform instead of that stupid fucking skirt that the fucking priests all stared at him in. That was, all until his parents had found out his teacher was affirming who he was. Then they filed a complaint. He remembered that day at school well. It was the first time his father had ever paid him any mind, and it was only to strike him. All in front of the priests and teachers, who did nothing. It was not, however, the first time he anxiety-vomited, though it was the first time to happen in front of the church correctional board for the 'gender confused', all over their ivory floor, a bright orange from all the soda he'd drank in a drinking contest he bunked off from youth group to go to, all against his mother's command. That had all been in front of the priests and teachers as well, who left him to clean himself off. His parents made his seven siblings watch as a lesson in 'correction of deep-rooted sin'. Jackasses. Within the next week, his mentor and beloved teacher was kicked from the school. The bastards in charge had 'investigated' and concluded that 'case' faster than the sexual harassment and abuse 'investigations' they still had yet to even start as they piled up after years and years.The phone on the other end rang, Alex listening, staggering, barely able to stand, in desperation. And he was surprised when his mentor actually picked up his call. He didn't expect him to answer so late. Or at all. Alex heard his mentor's familiar cheery hello and nearly sobbed right there. A dad hello. He couldn't explain it. It just was a hello in a tone a dad would use. He finally answered when he realised he'd left a long, silent pause that he feared might be met with a click if he didn't say something soon. His own hello was shaky, his introduction jittery, not helped by the voice cracks his DIY testosterone had produced.'H-Hey! I'm...Alex. The guy who...was in your class and is...t-trans. You knew me by a different name...b-because that's what the school attendance sheet showed from my parents, but you still used the name I preferred...even aloud during attendance. And you used my pronouns in class too. And you let me have a boy's uniform! I...'--here, Alex couldn't help the sniffle that started as a small gasp and quickly, so suddenly, became a wracking sob that nearly dropped him to the ground--'I got k-kicked out of my home!'After Alex anxiety-vomited inside the pay phone booth, enough to look like an exorcism had taken place, his teacher listened to Alex catch him up on what had happened and consoled him thru the phone as several people had walked past him, rushing and hurried, too distracted by their own traumas and memories to notice his screams of sorrow. That night his teacher took him in as an informally adopted son, even taking on an extra job to provide enough money for Alex to finally get his doctor's appointment to start non-DIY hormones and surgeries, plus put him through university where he would finally earn his coveted forensic chemist degree--a degree he hadn't been allowed to even think about...before.Now, several years later, he'd found his dream job at Scotland Yard. He returned to the present from his thoughts and memories. He had promised, after finally slaving and toiling away at keeping himself alive even while all of those around him wanted him dead, that he would smile at least once everyday. About something, anything, even silly, small stuff. He wouldn't let that time on the streets steal away his smile and happiness and hope.But today. He didn't know if he could keep that long-standing promise. Today, he'd be going back to his abusive parents' house.He didn't need to live there. Never again. He had saved up enough money and been given quite a bit from his mentor to find a small flat in London. And that's where he stayed, away from his parents, safe, forever. He didn't need to worry about them knowing his address now so they could send him some conversion propaganda. It was just one day. One day. And the only reason was due to a letter he had somehow received from one of his sisters. He could recognise her handwriting. He wasn't sure if that was due to working with handwriting so much now as a forensic chemist--learning the various curves and dots and dashes of a dominant hand or a non-dominant hand--or if it was due to trauma, but he knew it was hers. And what she said broke his heart. In a good way. For once. She finally affirmed him as who he was and apologised for all the times she had treated him like a girl and misgendered him. She wanted them to meet up again like the old days and go 'vandalise some anti-trans shit while smoking a joint'. This last part she laughed at as this was an inside joke they'd come up with in the tail end of primary. She didn't realise that's exactly what he'd been doing after several years on the streets. Such a...sheltered child.She had set a date that was best. One where their other siblings would be out at church. Their parents would still be there though and she didn't have a car, so he would have to pick her up. She said she could run to a nearby park if he didn't want to go to their parents' house. But with all the excitement and hazy giddiness of someone in his family finally affirming him, he hastily said he was fine picking her up at their parents' place. He was in his villain era after all, he cackled. He didn't care what they said if they showed up.Well, that day finally came for him to meet his sister...and all that hazy giddiness was gone, replaced with old anxieties that wrapped around and squeezed his stomach tight. He hadn't smiled all day and he knew H and Blaine had seen this. He sighed harshly, looking up from his work, lifting his goggles from off his rainbow-banded, black-framed glasses onto his sweat-beaded forehead, pushing up unruly red bangs. He just needed to get this over with and be done. Then he could smile the whole rest of the day as he celebrated with several joints and some cheap vodka he'd snatched off a store shelf.Later that day, right as work was wrapping up, Alex left without saying much to H whom he was good friends with and worked alongside, nor Blaine whom he flirted with relentlessly despite the man being...very straight, and headed right for his parents' house in a car he didn't have a license to drive. It had been getting him around for a while, but with how poorly he drove he was surprised he hadn't been pulled over yet.What Alex didn't know was that H and Blaine, adoptive brother and sister, had teamed up to follow after him. It had been H's idea, but with how uncharacteristic Alex was being today, even the prim and pompous Blaine couldn't help agreeing with her to spy on Alex to make sure he was all right.'Oh, so you do have a conscience after all,' H quipped at Blaine when he, very awkwardly, asked if he could join her.'Yes, well I DO solve why people kill and hurt others for a living, you do know...''You're a detective. You're on very thin ice.'And with H snickering at Blaine's wrinkled upturned nose at that comment, they headed out, only a minute behind Alex.They saw Alex taking a different way home, then quickly realised he wasn't headed home at all. They weren't sure whose house this was. Maybe a friend? Alex was sat in his car for quite a while after he'd arrived. When he finally got out, he very tensely walked up to the door, looking around quickly, making sure no one, or perhaps certain people, weren't watching.'His body language is...very off,' Blaine commented, squinting through his half-moon glasses as Alex brought a fist to the door, hesitated, thought to lower it again, then suddenly knocked. The door opened moments later and Alex hesitated several frantic heartbeats, his eyes wide with awe, before he launched himself into the person who stood there. Blaine and H quickly shuffled out of their car and up to a window partially obscured by a bush and watched through to see Alex was tightly embracing a girl who had identical fiery red hair as him, though much longer and hid by a head-covering, both on the floor from Alex's hardy hug, crying and laughing. This was his family's house, they realised. That must have been his sister. They watched on as the two talked rapidly, a few of the words caught through the still open door, though most of it obscured by their sobs and shaking laughter.'Has he not seen her for a while?' Blaine thought aloud in a hushed voice, trying to piece together what could cause such a reaction. 'He's only 22. Did something happen between them after he moved out?'H emulated his disquieted pondering. 'He's never really talked about his family before...'Just as Alex and his sister embraced again and swayed back and forth in giddy delight, their hug was cut short as a couple walked down a set of stairs before brother and sister. The man had close-cropped red hair and hard features, as if smiling was against his beliefs, the woman's hair long, also red, tied back and partially hidden by a head-covering similar to her daughter's. Both their expressions were surprised momentarily before they became very grave.'Zandra,' Alex's father said.Loud and clear. Deliberate. His dead name.This set off a series of emotions inside Alex that all quickly melded into each other until he couldn't tell what was what. Anger. Vengeance. Sorrow. Hopelessness. It was a sucking wound in his chest. He deliberated if he should call him out. On the one hand it would show his father he wasn't scared of him anymore. He had no power over him. His father could threaten to punch him but he wasn't that naïve little girl who was indoctrinated to be stupid and submissive to their whims. He was a man who knew his goddam rights. If his father laid a finger on him he'd lay him out faster than the cigarettes he was addicted to to cope with marrying a broodmare he hated. But on the other hand, his father would learn nothing. And his submissive wife wouldn't either. She would just brush it off and tell Alex, in no uncertain terms, to keep the peace, just like she had when the priests' ogling looks had escalated to something more.'It's actually Alex.'Alex's heart jumped in his chest when he heard his name. His sister. She'd said his name. He looked to her in awe once more. She was staring straight ahead at their parents, unblinking. She had to be confident. She, as well as Alex, knew very well what came next.'Anastasia, get off the floor,' their father commanded, his eye meeting hers, dismissing her entirely. He was already balling his fist, clenching, unclenching, clenching again. 'It's not ladylike.' He glanced to Alex, practically spitting these words at him.Anastasia's frown deepened. Alex could see her shaking, but her voice was resolute when she spat back,'I said, his name is Alex.''Don't speak to me in that tone,' their father dismissed her again, angrier, his fist remaining clenched now. 'Now get up off the floor before I punish you.'Alex watched Anastasia falter upon hearing this. He knew, just as well as her, if she didn't listen, their father would make good on those words.'Ann, you don't have to--' Alex started before Anastasia suddenly swung around on her backside, now fully facing their father, and defiantly planted her crossed-legs in front of her.'I won't move from this spot until you acknowledge him. Acknowledge Alex!'Alex's joy upon hearing this was nearly palpable. To be affirmed so persistently by someone in his own family. That was quite the feat when his immediate family was 10 people.But this joy was immediately dashed when their father, who had been standing very intimidatingly calm and collected, suddenly launched himself at Anastasia, gripping her, to the point of bruising, by the dress sleeves, and yelled in her face, 'Get away from that whore!' and dragged her, shaking and just beginning to sob, back over to their mother who stood and watched on in something akin to disappointment.

Alex gaped, frozen on the floor with terror, gasping, his past traumas that he had so meticulously packed away during his time on the streets, his time living with an affirming teacher whom he saw as his real father, and now, living happily on his own, suddenly flooding his mind once more, ripping open the old scars as if his father had physically stabbed him. His father was still yelling at an openly sobbing and screaming Anastasia, the words 'tranny' and 'fag' and 'she corrupted you' all he could hear through his own blood rushing through his ears with each frantic thrum of his heartbeat. He wanted to yell at him, to physically push him away from Ann and take her away from here. But he could do nothing but stare at this man of God sparing the rod no longer as he rained fist after fist into his sister.Suddenly, Ann pulled away from their father's grip, pushing away before he could land one more blow, falling to the floor again. Their father advanced on her, attempting to grab the bottom of her dress and drag her back...Until Alex landed a blow himself. Square in his father's face, knocking his glasses off and to the floor. His father staggered back, Alex righting himself from the force of the punch and staring down upon him like a demon upon a holy relic. He finally came to his senses and realised what he had done just as his father realised it too. There was a split second where both men stared at the other, Alex with renewed fear, his father, with a glint that held the calm before the storm.But just as his father was about to launch himself at Alex now, Anastasia shot from the floor and held him back as best she could, nearly being knocked to the floor in their father's rampage, but holding her ground.'Run, Alex!' she called as he stumbled back in horror, his mind reeling, his head spinning. 'We'll meet again! I promise!''Come here, you unholy daughter!' his father screamed over her, stomping past her, advancing on Alex, even as Anastasia wrapped her arms around their father's waist to hold him back.'I am not your daughter,' Alex half-yelled, half-hissed. This stopped their father in his tracks. Alex took the opportunity to spit one last thing at him. 'And I'm not your son either,' before he turned, walked out the door, and slammed it shut behind him.He stood on the step for a few drumming heartbeats, half expecting his father to break the door off its hinges and grab him by the neck, dragging him back into that den of holy crusaders. But as the seconds ticked on, his alertness dwindled back to the terror and sorrow and anger and hopelessness that came back to the forefront. He took a moment to listen for anymore yelling or beatings, making sure his sister was safe. He could still hear her sobbing, but it seemed his father's righteous rampage was over for now. He opened his clenched fist. Her number that she'd written on a piece of paper and gave to him during their frantic embrace had survived the chaos. She'd finally got a cellphone, but was still new to how it all worked. He'd text her and make sure she was alright. Hopefully they didn't take it from her after this. For now, he just needed to get away.With this, he bolted.From their place still hidden behind a bush, H and Blaine had witnessed every moment of this, unable to do much but mirror Alex's tumultuous emotions after witnessing every second of this horror. When she saw him run from the house, tears streaking his face as he openly sobbed, H called after him. But he just kept running, leaving his car behind.'That...' Blaine started, H looking to him, watching an anger cross his face she'd never seen before, 'That bastard!' He shuffled out from the branches and leaves clinging to his suit, balling his fists. 'I have half a mind to--''Stop,' H said firmly. 'You can bet your ass we'll be charged with trespassing if you go in there and confront him. And that won't look too good for a high-ranking detective of Scotland Yard. We need to leave and go after Alex for now. You can file a complaint later, and if you use some of your Scotland Yard status to sway them, they may even work faster on this case.'Blaine stood with his back turned to her for a moment longer, then sighed in resignation. 'You're right. Come on, let's catch up to him.''I'm driving,' H said as she grabbed him by the scruff of his perfectly ironed suit jacket collar and dragged him, protesting, as she ran past him for the car. 'You'll just drive the speed limit and make us lose sight of him!'

Summary:
Clive takes care of a younger Justine while she's feeling ill (and learns how to work a VCR in the process 💀)

I was sat in the living room, working on an article in the late hours of night, just about to take a sip of Earl Grey, when I spotted Justine walking out of her room. Or rather shuffling out, with her hands wrapped tight around her stomach.'Justine,' I said with concern, quickly putting my paper aside and muting the television. 'Something the matter?'She took a moment to answer, sniffling and wiping her welling eyes with one, overhanging purple sleeve while the other stayed firmly around her small frame.'I don't feel good...' she whimpered, wiping away more tears. 'I'm scared...''Oh, my little bean.' I stood and wrapped her up in my arms, holding her close. 'It'll pass. You'll be ok.' Normally she didn't care for hugs, preferring high-fives over what she felt was a suffocating closeness. But she gladly accepted the embrace now, her fingers gripping my suit jacket, her wet face pressed into my tie. I gently let her down on the couch and wrapped her in a nearby blanket before straightening up with a warm smile. 'How about I put on a movie? We can watch as many as you'd like until you feel better!'She looked up at the television, seeing another reporter giving silent commentary on a crime scene, then to me with a pained expression.'Aren't you doing something important?''The most important thing to me right now,' I said as I switched the channel, the reporter disappearing to a completely blue screen, 'is making sure my daughter is well again as soon as possible.'She kept her eyes on me as I said this, still rather unsure if I was telling the truth or not. The orphanage had instilled in her such a fear of being sick, of being a burden, that no matter how many times I comforted her when she was scared or ill, she had a hard time accepting that I genuinely cared.'I have a special tea that will help you feel all better,' I added. Then with a teasing but compassionate tone, 'all you have to do is pick out a movie. It will be ready as soon as you do!'This seemed to help her put her fears aside for the moment as she sank into the blanket I had wrapped around her. I handed her all the tapes she had helped pick out over the past few months since her adoption, then slipped into the kitchen for a few moments to brew up some soothing chamomile and ginger.When I returned with a steaming cup, I saw Justine still sifting through the colourful cartoon-painted boxes, her brow furrowed in indecision.'Need some help?' I offered.She nodded.I took the tapes from her and replaced them with the mug, wrapped protectively in several potholders. She immediately took a sip, eager to be cured right away, but had underestimated the temperature and stuck out her tongue with a yelp.'Drink it slow, now,' I said with a chuckle, setting a hand atop her head and ruffling her hair. She gave me a withering look through her dark bangs now mussed and in her face, and I couldn't help but laugh.I returned to the VCR, setting a pointer against my chin as I studied it. I'd never really worked the thing before, having just bought it alongside all the tapes. In fact, Justine was the one to really play about with it, but I wouldn't make her do that now when she was ill. So how exactly did she put the tape in again?'This kinda tastes weird...' I heard Justine say softly from the couch.I pressed a button, awaiting something to happen, but nothing did.'It's not the best flavour, but it'll help your stomach,' I reassured as I pressed another button. This one...didn't appear to do anything either...'I already feel a little better...''That's great, Just!' I tried another button and, finally, a rectangular compartment on the front opened and spit out a previously-watched tape. I slid it out then turned back to Justine. 'Now, what would you like to watch?' I held up a box with a dragon and a boy. 'How about this one?'She shook her head and took another small sip.I tried again, sifting through a few others and held up one with a blue spiked animal of some sort. Hedgehog, I guess, based on the title.'This one?'Her eyes widened in surprise but a moment before she began to giggle.'That's a video game!' she said with childish scolding still touched with laughter.Now my own eyes widened, in embarrassment, as I shot a look back at the box I held up and then to the boxes still in my hand. They were completely different now that I looked them over! Alongside the movies, I'd also bought her a gaming system she had almost attached herself to when we'd gone to the shop for the first time after her adoption. It was my own fault for having mixed all of them together...'I-I knew that...' I murmured. 'I was just trying to get you to laugh because that helps you feel better too!' I discarded the game and found another movie. 'What about this one?'Justine thought for a second, tilting her head. Then she shook it again.I chuckled. Tough little bean... I sifted through the tapes once more...and then I found the perfect one.'Now, I know you'll love this one,' I held it up almost triumphantly.Justine's eyes lit up when she saw the box cover. It was just as colourful, but rather than a cartoon, it was a science documentary on subatomic particles. She nodded her head vigorously, her spiked ponytail bobbing.Bang on! I removed the tape from its box, slipped it into the slot, found the play button (after a few extra moments of messing about...) and then seated myself next to Justine on the couch. As the opening scene began to play, I asked, 'How are you feeling now, Just? Any better?'But my little bean was simply too engrossed in the documentary to respond, sitting forward, her elbows on her knees and face cradled in her palms, eyes wide with wonder.I chuckled as I finally took a sip of my Earl Grey. I'd take that as a 'yes.'

~Working on~

~Finished Art~

Magnus Archives Smut ✨

Summary: Half my thoughts while I was high and horny, half a little story of my two favourite tragic gays Jon and Martin. I'm aego and...I mean Jesus. I almost want to fuck them myself. Anyway, enjoy as much as I did writing it ;)

During Martin and Jon's first time being intimate together, Jon plays a little trick on Martin and Knows™️ all the right places to caress and kiss and lick and suck. Martin, thru barely held back moans, yells in exasperation that this is cheating. Jon, looking in satisfaction up at him overtop his glasses lenses, eyes lidded, takes martin's erect cock into his nimble fingers, running them along his shaft, satisfied in the way Martin's breathing hitched.'Is it now?'He now takes Martin in his mouth, running his tongue around him, feeling every throb--growing faster in time with each stroke--as he ran his tongue along his shaft to his glans, slowly releasing him from his lips. Between Martin's desperate pleas of his name, begging him--trying his best to sound annoyed and failing miserably (not to mention Jon's pesky little ability!)--to stop teasing him and make him come already. He finally got an entire sentence to mind past the haze of Jon's rugged face and dusting of silver in his brown hair, his dark jawline, his lean, yet toned muscles, his mysterious obsidian eyes, and he finally spat at him through a leer 'on your knees then, Eternal Watcher. Where you belong.'Jon knew it was bait, and he happily took it.'What I have in store for you, Love--' the room suddenly darkened, the shadows darting and crawling out along the floor, encasing the ceiling and Jon himself...than they immediately scattered--imploding--as a light shone as bright as hundreds of galaxies' suns with many--hundreds, thousands, millions, endless--eyes staring upon Martin; his next words crackled out in a staticky, glitching mess as a smug leer that widened to a sharp-toothed grin danced with mirth on his lips '--it will leave you begging for more.'He Knew deep down to Martin's subconscious.'And more.'There, Jon understood all his fetishes, even those he was bashful of--like the one with the candle wax...and the monster fetish--but trusting that Jon would give him confidence and encourage his adventurous side. Jon smiled a nasty pointed grin that was meant to be encouragement and love. 'I'll always make you come however you like.' He kissed Martin's neck, leading up to his lips, slipping his tongue against Martin's, both longing, greedy, moaning for more. 'Now, allow me my feast, Love.' He slipped his lips and tongue against his cock and pressured, Martin's eyes rolling back as his hips bucked, desperately longing for release as static filled the room once more. 'I'll take your statement now, Mr Blackwood. What would you like me to do to you next?'

Various Clive Smut ✨

Summary: Older!Amelia attempts to steal some of Older!Clive's meal...and is swiftly punished for being so greedy

Amelia had just untangled one hand from her bindings. It had taken much effort to accomplish this at all, but even more to do so without alerting Clive, who was sat just feet away, already wolfing down his 7th plate of dinner and 9th cup of earl grey. But she had, and now was her chance. She set her hand on the table, surreptitiously reaching for the plate of chocolate-doused biscuits--deliberately set in front of her and the only thing near enough to reach that hadn't yet fallen to Clive's insatiable appetite--wanting only one. Just one, was all. She glanced up quickly at Clive, hoping to determine how in danger she was of being caught, but this was a mistake she soon regret. She couldn't help ogling him. Clad in a black button up and waistcoat, both skin-tight as his bulging gut stretched against them, the buttons trembling, his belt, fastened to the tightest notch, threatening to snap in two. He began to set his fork against yet another cleared off plate that had once been piled with food--now resting at the bottom of his fat gut--and she immediately regained her composure and shot her arm back behind the chair. Her own guts squirmed with a giddy nervousness as he looked up, nearly caught but staying under his radar for now, it seemed, as he smirked at her, none the wiser of her plan.'Enjoying the show, Love?' Clive asked, tilting his nose to stare her down. He then glanced to a pan of brownies, one of several in front of him, and took them up in one hand while in the other he grabbed a fudge square and stuffed it into his mouth, chocolate smearing one side of his lips. 'I'm sure you're rather famished,' he taunted, his mouth full. He swallowed with a groan, his belly stretching out even more, the bottom of his waistcoat spreading against the bulging fat, and quickly picked up and stuffed another and another in, his mouth so full he had to use his thumb to push it all in. He swallowed again, setting a hand against his belly as the mass of brownies squeezed down his throat and in amongst the rest of his banquet, his belly growing a bit more, the leather of his belt popping as it stretched to near its limit, his chair creaking under his weight, then licked first his thumb of fudge, then his chocolate-stained lips. His eyes wandered back to Amelia, a knowing glint in their depths as he watched her melt with pleasure, just like her desserts as they'd slid along his tongue and down his throat into his fat gut. When Amelia saw him watching her in triumph, she quickly sobered up and gave him a cold glare.'Eat all you like, Darling,' she said, turning her face away with a dignified huff. 'I won't be the one losing tonight.''BWOOOOOOOORRRP!' Clive let out a deep belch just to spite her and smirked. 'We'll see about that, Love. Remember, it's not just me you have to contend with tonight.' As he said this, he shoved a handful of chips into his mouth while tapping the finger of his other hand against the table where a remote sat. It was small, yet it held so much power over her if it was turned on. Amelia became aware of what the remote controlled--an equally powerful device that sat against her clit, its straps straining against her thighs and hips, pulled so tight by Clive when he attached it to be sure she knew what danger she would be in if she tried anything.'I know, Darling,' Amelia said with a lilt. It was her turn to smirk at him now, her eyes half-lidded as she made a taunt of her own, 'Now why don't you go back to your feast so I can continue enjoying my entertainment?'Clive, however, wasn't perturbed by her sudden confidence. 'Gladly, Love. HIC Enjoy as much as you like, because the only feast you'll be getting URRP! is with your eyes.' He took a moment to lean back in his chair and pat his gut with a satisfied sigh before turning back to his feast, his belly growing even more as he tucked into his 3rd helping of mash.That's what you think, Darling, Amelia thought, the smirk still tugging at her lips. She quickly composed herself as her goal came back to mind. She watched Clive closely, making sure he was sufficiently distracted by his meals that he wouldn't look up again while also being sure to keep herself from being distracted by his gut, now so full it hung over the table. And then she made her move once more.She slowly reached her hand around from behind the chair and set it on the table again and leaned in until the tie Clive had used to bind her pulled taut against her other arm, stretching her fingers out. They were mere inches away from the rim of the plate where a particularly big biscuit sat, beckoning her. She softly tugged her captive arm, giving herself just enough slack for her middle finger to reach the edge of the biscuit and slowly curled her finger, pulling it along gently so as not to make a sound. Soon, her pointer and ring finger could reach the biscuit as well until she could nearly grip it, and soon enough she'd be tasting it, alongside a sweet victory at having taken a bit of Clive's feast for herself. And then she'd be the one belching and patting her stomach, in revenge for the many times he'd done it to taunt and tease her!But just as she started to wrap her fingers around the biscuit, a vibration jolted against her clit, freezing her fingers, and the biscuit, right at the edge of the plate.'Ahhhh...' Amelia couldn't help the moan that escaped her, followed quickly by another and another as the vibration continued its ravishing rhythmic throb. Waves of sheer ecstasy shot through her, from the tips of her nipples to the depths of her growling stomach, all the way to her clit, making her legs tremble and every muscle weak.'Hmhm, did you really think you could sneak past me, Love?' Clive chuckled maliciously, staring down upon her as she now lay against the table, weak with ecstasy. He was leaned back in his chair, his belly positively protruding out, bulging over the side of the table until it nearly reached his knees, one hand resting contentedly upon one side of it. In the other, he held the little remote, his thumb hovering threateningly over an even higher setting. 'It seems you're hellbent on losing our little game.' He ran his thumb over the button, once, twice, considering the thought. 'I can make that happen, Love.''C-Clive!' Amelia couldn't help but cry out. Clive hadn't moved on to a higher setting, not yet anyway, but even the thought of it, compounded with the pulse already caressing her, made her tremble with pleasure. Everything was starting to get soaked underneath her with how wet she was, until it was running down her legs in quivering rivulets. But she couldn't give in so easily! She'd threatened she'd win and she wasn't about to let him take that from her. She propped herself up on the elbow she had freed, biting her lip to keep from indulging him even more with her moans, and pulled against her bindings as she reached again for the biscuit, all while the vibrator continued its rhythmic throb.Clive observed this with nonchalance, knowing she wouldn't make it. But it would add to the fun if he allowed her to try. Just as she had a grip on the biscuit again, he casually reached out and plucked it right out of her trembling fingers. 'You shouldn't be so selfish, Love,' he said, turned the biscuit languidly between his fingers. He stopped and leaned in, gripping Amelia's cheeks in his other hand, forcing her head up to watch him. 'Trying to take what's mine.' He opened his mouth, pushed the biscuit onto his waiting tongue, then lifted his chin and swallowed it whole. He sighed in satisfaction, patting his belly and releasing a casual burp, then looked down upon Amelia again. Her eyes were glassy with ecstasy with what he'd just made her witness. The vibrator was certainly not helping... 'Well, this will be the end of that.' He picked up the entire plate of biscuits in his hand, waggling it spitefully before a defeated Amelia and then tilted it up and feasted face-first. His stomach stretched even more, straining against trembling buttons until one finally popped from its threads, his bulging gut jostling out with a slosh, pressuring against the second button until it too exploded from its thread, bouncing against the table and rolling off the side. The third button soon followed, Clive's enormous gut spreading out, his waistcoat pushed open, his black button down now the only defense against it, though it too didn't have much fight left as the fatty flesh spilled out around its buttons. As his gut continued to fill with cookies, it pushed so forcefully against his belt, this, too, finally snapped in two, his belly jostling and sloshing over the hem of his trousers.Finally, Clive had finished his feast of biscuits and returned the completely cleaned off plate to the large pile before him, the table groaning under the weight of it all. 'Ahh,' he groaned, sitting back in his chair, its legs nearly buckling under him. He sucked his fingers off, one by one and drew out a loud belch. 'BWOOOOORRRRRP''Clive...' Amelia moaned, unable to keep the ecstasy from overtaking her now.'Nearly there, eh,' Clive observed with a smirk. With one hand he patted his belly while, in the other, he lifted the remote. 'Maybe I'll help you right over the edge, then.' And he pressed the button, Amelia's screams of pleasure of his name greeting his ears as he stuffed what was left of dinner down his waiting gullet until his belly popped his trouser button and, with a wet 'GLOP', jostled until it reached the floor.

Summary: Older!Clive is tamed with a collar...but he still needs a bit of training for his attitude. Maybe even a bit of punishment

'Put this on.'From the Inspector's hand dropped a collar gilded with silver bolts at Clive's Oxfords.Clive chuckled. 'What's this? No handcuffs this time?' He leaned in to the Inspector, hand at his belt. 'Are you sure you don't want to at least pat me down for any...dangerous weapons first?'Inspector Brown grabbed him by his tie, pulling him within inches of his face, staring him down with serious umber eyes. 'Now, Dove.'Despite Clive's best efforts, a stifling heat began to rise, alongside a steady bright red, up from his neck, quickly making its way to his cheeks. The heat from Inspector Brown's own unbuttoned lapel, revealing dark, wiry pecs and just a peek of defined abs, wasn't helping, but he regained a bit of composure when he noticed the ever so slight smirk tugging at the Inspector's lips. The man always tried to act so stoic, Clive thought, but he was certainly enjoying himself. He smirked himself. He'd quickly make use of that.'Right away, officer,' Clive answered in a cheeky retort. He turned round and continued to unbutton his waistcoat. 'Bit hot in here, though, isn't it?' He slid out of the olive-green vest and let it slip to the floor, his fingers already at his tie. 'Allow me to loosen a bit of my clothing first.'And then came that same heat, that same familiar scent--of coffee, ink spilled upon stacks of paperwork, and a sharp, sweet cologne--and that same, firm hand, stroking him overtop his trousers where he had just begun to unbuckle his belt. Clive couldn't help the low, longing moan that escaped him with each firm stroke of the Inspector's hand.'Do you want a repeat of last night, Dove?' he growled.The night before jumped to Clive's mind, reminding him of how he'd defied Inspector Brown in an attempt to win him over. Instead, he'd been forced to work in stained trousers.'N-no, officer,' he finally acquiesced.'Good.' The Inspector said, removing his hand. The bulge against Clive's trousers remained, rather visible in the moonlight that filtered into their room. 'Then grab your collar like a good pet.'Clive bent over to retrieve the gilded collar, but he had one last trick up his sleeve. He slipped out of his Oxfords and dropped his trousers to the floor, now only clad in his button down and boxer briefs, his bulge very visible against both.'Oh my,' he said in mock surprise. 'That wasn't meant to happen.' His smirk grew devilish. 'Honest, officer.'He knew by the way the Inspector's brow angled and his usually calm and collected umber gaze narrowed, emphasising the burning flame within, he'd riled him. Just as he'd wanted. He'd be punished, he knew, as the Inspector retrieved something of his own from his discarded trench coat. But he couldn't help himself. At least only his briefs would be taking the hit this time.The Inspector advanced on Clive and swiped the item he'd retrieved, a firm, leather riding crop, across his thigh, just barely missing his erection, causing Clive to gasp and exhaled a deep moan.'More, officer,' he growled, despite himself.The Inspector brought the crop up flush with his erection and pressured until Clive dropped to the floor with a longing grunt between pants.'Shirt. Off. Now.' He commanded.When Clive, nearly lost in the haze of pleasure, didn't comply at first, the Inspector pressured even harder until Clive lifted his chin and moaned louder.'Now, Dove.''Yes, officer,' Clive finally complied between heavy breaths and began unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slip to the floor as well, revealing his own wiry muscles and chest, both scrawled with a tattoo--his arm, a dove-Phoenix hybrid. His chest, a spade made of gears and iron bars.'Now your briefs.' The Inspector stroked Clive's bulge with the crop, satisfied in the way he squirmed to keep himself from releasing too soon. 'I wouldn't try anything if I were you.'Clive could make no retort this time for fear it would melt into nothing but a moan and lose him their little game. He did as he was asked, removing his briefs, his full erection springing forth, which the Inspector quickly held captive once more with the crop.'Now, the collar.'And once more Clive did as he was told. But as he was fastening the collar round his throat and the Inspector hooked the leash into place, Clive noticed the Inspector's own erection just beginning to bulge against his black dress trousers.'Hmhm,' he chuckled, feeling his confidence return despite his disadvantageous position. 'Like what you see, Inspector?'Knowing exactly what Clive was speaking of, the Inspector wasted no time in yanking Clive's leash, jerking him up to his eye level, his erection against his own. He stroked Clive's, slowly at first.'A lapdog knows when to speak and when to be silent,' he said, watching into Clive's glossy eyes, slipping his thumb into Clive's mouth parted in a low moan, pressing down against his wet, longing tongue. Then he stroked his cock, faster and firmer, Clive's moans quavering in time with each. 'And right now, you should be silent.'Then the Inspector gave one final stroke with his powerful fingers, bringing forth a drawn out moan from Clive's trembling form alongside his orgasm, flowing all over the Inspector's hands, spattering to the floor below, before he collapsed, his chest rising and falling with each euphoric pant.The Inspector allowed himself a smile, watching Clive sigh in bliss and finally fall completely silent. 'Obedient, just like a good pet.' Then he brought his hand to his own belt and began to unfasten. 'Now sit up. We're not through yet.'