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[multiverse]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

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PARISA

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[chaosmenu]

[ The hand in his pants is exactly the right move; Carmy was just about to slip off to some elsewhere place where her words wouldn't hurt him anymore, more dissociation than subspace, and then suddenly there's a woman's fingers sliding over his sweaty, vulnerable skin. His dick is so fucking hard, trembles and weeps under her touch.

Not Carmy, though, whose tears are tightly turned off despite the absolute crushing inevitability of his failure. There's a brief flicker of his ego attempting to protect him before he just gives in and believes her completely, hungry for the devouring, for having all his worst fears about himself validated. He's nothing. He's useless. ]

I'm sorry.

[ As immediate as the way he'd raced down here. Still trying so painfully hard to please: it's real, though, he's breathless and strained with how humiliatingly real it is. Enough that he doesn't need a call and response of correction to say it properly. ]

I'm sorry for being a bad kisser with a- small dick.

[ Voice cracking on that second bit, pitching close to misery, even as the small dick in question pulses hard on the very same words. This hard, fat in her hand, it's more obviously only slightly below average, but like his height he's got a bit of a complex about it, grew up around too many rowdy guys. He has to close his eyes for a moment, flushed and ecstatic, his hands dropped useless at his sides as he stands in the public club and tries not to come too fast. ]

I...

[ Is he allowed speak anymore? He isn't sure, so he stutters like he's nine again, has to swallow it. ]

I can make it up to you.

[ He doesn't know how, but he can try. Maybe he'll earn her mercy - he doesn't otherwise expect it. ]

[multiverse]

( men and their cocks. parisa knows it's a bit of prideful concession, an admittance that cuts a little deeper than skin, but the words give her goosebumps like a whisper trailing up her spine — someone cutting themselves down to size because she told them to is like bathing in the sun, like burning a candle in her cunt making everything warm and wet. power is this amorphous thing that exists in her, because she has it, she knows she has it, but she only has it because someone has given it to her, because people clock her societal value the first time they look at her. she's five feet of raw sexuality hiding a decomposing corpse inside, but she's never the strongest person in the room. at the very least, that honor belongs to whoever she opts to give her attention to.

not that carmy is walking like a tall man. he goes into that bad night with intention, pulled by the strings of his self worth, or lack thereof. he doesn't act like he's humoring parisa — in fact, he seems to believe it. yes, this pipsqueak in a short skirt with sex in her eyes owns me. i'm a worm.

that, more than anything, makes carmy parisa's new favorite person. )

It's okay.

( forgiven for all the sins of his shortcomings, which are numerous and vast, but not anything she's listed so far. that was bullying. the butter soft pad of her thumb rubs against his cockhead, complimented by the brief pain of her manicured nail across his slit. she draws her hand out and presses that thumb to his mouth — soft, pouty lips, an expression like a dog waiting to be put down. )

Yes, you will. We've got all night. ( promise — carmy's not going to hit and quit this one. she gives him a playful slap on the cheek. ) Come somewhere more private with me.

( parisa slips aside and makes a heading towards one of the curtained rooms for private entertaining. carmy will have to deal with his jeans himself. )

[chaosmenu]

[ She puts her thumb to his lips and it tastes like his precum, a bloom of marine salts across his palate. He closes his lips around it for just a second, licks it clean, just because she wants him to. It doesn't matter that he doesn't really know her, she's everything and he's just Carmy.

Then she's going, and he races to get himself all buttoned up again, doesn't look across at the bartender watching him knowingly. He's so hard from the waves of humiliation that he has to limp a little.

Carmy doesn't know shit about programming or the law, but it feels like he's found an exploit in his brain. A loophole, a way out of the Catch-22 of his trauma. The rules that say: Carmy doesn't deserve to experience pleasure, and if he does he has to stop before it gets taken away or twisted around on him, or disappoints him the way that every good thing disappoints him. Carmy is a piece of shit who ruins everything he touches, he's toxic fucking waste. But this isn't pleasure. It isn't a good time, right? It's humiliation and cruelty, the way he deserves. It's okay if his dick gets hard for that. Parisa can see what he is, and he doesn't have to worry about existing in the right way because there will never be a right way. He's already failed.

The private room has like, gear and shit, the kind that he's only seen in Twitter videos he bookmarked guiltily. He's watched a lot of weird porn on Twitter; his favourite is realistic medical play, disinterested doctors in latex gloves trying to work around the boner of some embarrassed patient. Giving clinical handjobs. But he wasn't lying that he knows was CBT is.

He hovers awkwardly, waiting to be told if he should stand or sit or kneel; take his clothes off or leave them on. ]

[multiverse]

( one look over her shoulder — more like condemnation than consideration, a king turning her thumb downwards, off with his head. parisa idles in a way about the room like it belongs to her, knowing where to go to find what she needs. what she needs, as according to the inner workings of carmy's self-flagellating mind: latex gloves, a cock ring. she debates carmy's skin tone for a second before grabbing the gold. )

You have one rule. That's it. Even you can follow one rule, right?

( the gloves snap against her wrists as she pulls them on, stepping back up to him with a cocky twist to her mouth, pinching his chin. he really does have a pretty face — eyes so blue they're luminescent, mouth so pouty it's like it never smiled a day in its long, tiresome life, connected to a man you prefers slaps to kisses. )

You don't come until you beg for it. If I feel like making you feel good, I'll let you. ( pressure on his chin forces him to nod once, twice. ) "Yes, ma'am." Now open.

( she presses the cock ring into his mouth, left there like the bit on a tamed horse, which is not a completely inaccurate portrayal of this dynamic. parisa's own mind is full of thoughts of carmy on the blood red sheets, pale and perfect on the backdrop, covered in his own cummy humiliation, blushing, apologizing for fucking up. addictive. stepping back, she takes a seat on the cuck chair, crossing one long leg over the other, head tilted. )

Strip and kneel in front of me.

[chaosmenu]

Yes ma'am.

[ Gold like his stupid little chain - unlike Richie, he doesn't actually wear a crucifix anymore, but it's still a heavy weight in his soul, the kind of upbringing that makes kneeling and penitence familiar. He tongues the silicone, tries not to think about where else a toy in the public kink club might have been. Nose wrinkling just a little.

He really, really wants to be good at this, though — to hold her attention for as long as she's give it to him, even if (especially if) it's demeaning. The fact that he has no idea what he's doing kind of only adds to it, Carmy's bratty arrogance only kicks in when he's confident. Right now he's out of his depth and she's the only guide he has.

He strips out of his tshirt, jeans, briefs, folds them all neatly, dick bobbing between his legs as he puts them down. Comes back and kneels for her, right in front of her dangling stiletto. Hands open palmed on his muscular thighs because he doesn't know what else to do with them. Like a horse he's fit and beautiful and mostly oblivious to it — he works out because he has to in order to survive his own thoughts, ans because it makes long hours in the kitchen easier.

He looks at her a little quizzically, anticipatory, but he still holds the cockring in his mouth, with his teeth at the moment, so he doesn't try to talk. Still, he's wondering why she needs the gloves, filthy possibilities playing through his mind like a porno on fast forward. ]