F is for Fatal, G is for Girdle, H is for Hankering
Title: A Hundred Chances to Bite
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Sybil/Serafine
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 200
Summary: The girls in Sybil's dormitory called Serafine the Bitch...
The girls in Sybil's dormitory called Serafine the Bitch - always the same speciesist term - more often than her name. Serafine seemed to take perverse pride in the title, becoming everything that the word evoked: strolling around the corridors as a gigantic wolf, howling at the moon, and...
The uniforms covered every inch of their bodies, for which Sybil was grateful; though not as grateful as for her father's influence, which afforded her private bathing time. She could control her wincing when she sat down, or leaned back; and she had ointments and bandages. No-one needed to know about the scratch marks on her back, on her thighs.
There was more to Serafine, Sybil was sure; more than the bitch, the cruel toothy grin. Sometimes as she was coming, Serafine's breath on her cheek, she felt they were just the same - woman, wolf, and other - one beautiful creature.
Sybil was sure; until Serafine, true to her nickname, proved her wrong.
Sybil writes to Serafine every year; she writes to all her old friends; every year, because some memories are important, even when all that is left is a veneer of everyday, insignificant words, sent into an ancient address and never answered.
***
Title: Time Out
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Susan/Adora Belle
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG
Word count: 200
A/N: Someone mentioned this pairing and it's been hard to get out of my brain ever since.
Summary: Susan needs something human.
Leisure and time can turn what is usually a bother into something meditative, pleasurable, expectant. Expectation - a reward, or curse, of patience. Susan thinks of Lobsang, but there's no room for gods in this part of her life.
She still needs to be human, sometimes, even after all these years. This is her time; her time, not his.
Adora Belle unbuttons Susan's bodice at leisure, with time; button by button, eyes fixed on Susan's. Fierce eyes. Oh, Adora. A beauty, a killer, almost monstrous, like Susan.
Many objects still to go - the corset, the shirt, the skirts, bloomers. After that it will be Susan's turn. Her gaze wanders to the front of her lover's severely plain dress; buttons, there too; beneath, a girdle, and stockings, and sweet pleasures. Her breath catches, exhiliration rising, and she never knows if this is the pleasure of challenge, or something specifically for Adora.
There's always time. She can make time, and take time out - literally. But for this, she won't cheat; time flurries its own pace around their little rented bedroom, thumping and cursing and laughing.
She wishes she could stop thinking of time, if only for now.
***
Title: By Herself
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Miss Level/Miss Level, Miss Level/OFC
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 245
A/N: Um. Yeah. :D For those of you who don't know Miss Level but still want to read this: everyone thinks she's twins, but she's one person with two bodies.
Summary: It's lonely being two.
Miss Level wouldn't take just any man, and just any man wouldn't take her, her being as she is, and as such she's never had anybody much at all. Someone once called her twice-the-pleasure, and that hadn't offended her as it would have if she'd been twins; no, instead, she felt a warm glow in her, thinking anyone could ever call her that, if they knew what she really was.
Things being as they were, it hadn't taken her long to figure out that the special person wouldn't have to be a man at all. Having two bodies made autoeroticism (as Monty's dictionary called it) all the more varied and interesting, and a learning experience much more thorough. Even so, one can get bored of one's own bodies.
Sometimes she'd sit on the fold-out stairs of her trailer and watch Maya the Snake Girl practice her contortions, and wish nothing more than to have her twist between her bodies, sharp fingers and lean thighs, and the singular pleasure of unexpected caresses; the nooks and secrets of a body not her own.
But, if a man fit for her, who wanted her, was rare, a woman was rarer; Maya's thighs would wind around the tight-rope walker, and Miss Level would find her pleasures from men who would never know her nature, and from herself, in empty embraces, self-contained and safe, in which no amount of pretense could convince her the body in her arms was someone else.
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Sybil/Serafine
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 200
Summary: The girls in Sybil's dormitory called Serafine the Bitch...
The girls in Sybil's dormitory called Serafine the Bitch - always the same speciesist term - more often than her name. Serafine seemed to take perverse pride in the title, becoming everything that the word evoked: strolling around the corridors as a gigantic wolf, howling at the moon, and...
The uniforms covered every inch of their bodies, for which Sybil was grateful; though not as grateful as for her father's influence, which afforded her private bathing time. She could control her wincing when she sat down, or leaned back; and she had ointments and bandages. No-one needed to know about the scratch marks on her back, on her thighs.
There was more to Serafine, Sybil was sure; more than the bitch, the cruel toothy grin. Sometimes as she was coming, Serafine's breath on her cheek, she felt they were just the same - woman, wolf, and other - one beautiful creature.
Sybil was sure; until Serafine, true to her nickname, proved her wrong.
Sybil writes to Serafine every year; she writes to all her old friends; every year, because some memories are important, even when all that is left is a veneer of everyday, insignificant words, sent into an ancient address and never answered.
***
Title: Time Out
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Susan/Adora Belle
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG
Word count: 200
A/N: Someone mentioned this pairing and it's been hard to get out of my brain ever since.
Summary: Susan needs something human.
Leisure and time can turn what is usually a bother into something meditative, pleasurable, expectant. Expectation - a reward, or curse, of patience. Susan thinks of Lobsang, but there's no room for gods in this part of her life.
She still needs to be human, sometimes, even after all these years. This is her time; her time, not his.
Adora Belle unbuttons Susan's bodice at leisure, with time; button by button, eyes fixed on Susan's. Fierce eyes. Oh, Adora. A beauty, a killer, almost monstrous, like Susan.
Many objects still to go - the corset, the shirt, the skirts, bloomers. After that it will be Susan's turn. Her gaze wanders to the front of her lover's severely plain dress; buttons, there too; beneath, a girdle, and stockings, and sweet pleasures. Her breath catches, exhiliration rising, and she never knows if this is the pleasure of challenge, or something specifically for Adora.
There's always time. She can make time, and take time out - literally. But for this, she won't cheat; time flurries its own pace around their little rented bedroom, thumping and cursing and laughing.
She wishes she could stop thinking of time, if only for now.
***
Title: By Herself
Fandom: Discworld
Pairing: Miss Level/Miss Level, Miss Level/OFC
Claim: Discworld
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 245
A/N: Um. Yeah. :D For those of you who don't know Miss Level but still want to read this: everyone thinks she's twins, but she's one person with two bodies.
Summary: It's lonely being two.
Miss Level wouldn't take just any man, and just any man wouldn't take her, her being as she is, and as such she's never had anybody much at all. Someone once called her twice-the-pleasure, and that hadn't offended her as it would have if she'd been twins; no, instead, she felt a warm glow in her, thinking anyone could ever call her that, if they knew what she really was.
Things being as they were, it hadn't taken her long to figure out that the special person wouldn't have to be a man at all. Having two bodies made autoeroticism (as Monty's dictionary called it) all the more varied and interesting, and a learning experience much more thorough. Even so, one can get bored of one's own bodies.
Sometimes she'd sit on the fold-out stairs of her trailer and watch Maya the Snake Girl practice her contortions, and wish nothing more than to have her twist between her bodies, sharp fingers and lean thighs, and the singular pleasure of unexpected caresses; the nooks and secrets of a body not her own.
But, if a man fit for her, who wanted her, was rare, a woman was rarer; Maya's thighs would wind around the tight-rope walker, and Miss Level would find her pleasures from men who would never know her nature, and from herself, in empty embraces, self-contained and safe, in which no amount of pretense could convince her the body in her arms was someone else.