[The countless formalities involved with each visit to the manor are always excruciating. They are so involved and take so long, the young Count Kurt Engelstedt always find themself squirming with impatience for them to end. Especially when their honored guest is Lord Corrigan Molloy.
Ever since their father—Gunnar Frederick Engelstedt III, Marquis of Himmel—remarried, he had been inviting many a beautiful honored guest to the manor, instructing his strange son to entertain them however they please. The young Count cannot be sure of their father's motives, but they do as they're told, suffering the company of merchants and viscounts and baronesses and military officials if only to escape their father's sour gaze for the day. Every last man and woman they host is insufferably boring. Beautiful, certainly, but so boring. Yet another chore added to their list of duties.
But not Lord Corrigan Molloy. After each of his visits, Kurt finds themself counting the days until his next, breathless with anticipation to see him again. If they could, they would abandon both name and title just to spend every day in his company, entertaining his every whim. Even now, as the welcoming proceedings start ramping down and the staff disperse to tend to their duties, Kurt can feel Lord Molloy's intense gaze on them, tracing every button and ruffle of their formal suit, knowing it hides the delicate undergarments of a lady. They feel his approval like sparks against their skin, a rush of heat and color flooding pale cheeks, a squeeze of anticipation in their muscles like the ropes he so loves to use.
When their father finally leaves Lord Molloy in their care, Kurt beams as they take him on a tour of the gardens, the polite distance between their bodies shrinking by the minute. By the time they step into the hedge maze, they have taken the Lord's hand in their own, grinning excitedly up at him, their free hand pulling their long hair free of its ribbon.]
Do you like it, My Lord? I've let it grow, j-just as you suggested I should. [They teethe gently at their lip, awaiting his response.] Do I look like a Lady yet?
["You understand my difficult position, Lord Molloy." That's what Gunnar had said, after laying out his proposition for the first time. Nevermind that as a marquis with titled peerage, he far outranked Corrigan's mostly new-money title, and if he ever referred to him as anything other than Marquis blah blah blah, he'd be tarred and feathered.
In this situation, Corrigan was the one with the power. He had money (a disgusting amount of it), land, property and, most importantly, nobody to share it with. He wasn't as closely scrutinized as the higher-ranking noblemen were, and if he chose to live his life without wife or heir, that was his business. The Marquis of Himmel was not so lucky -- he had to not only take a wife, but maintain one, and produce heirs suitable of taking on his name. And he had failed at both.
So, his proposal: his new wife (the second he'd had, after the first one's death) did not get along with his heir, and considering she was higher-born and her children would outrank his firstborn, Gunnar had to find some occupation for the mercurial, stubborn youth. Something that would thoroughly captivate their attention, keep them out of the manor on long summer trips and extended weekends away. Thus: the blunt proposal to Corrigan. If he wanted Kurt, in every sense of the word, he could have them. Just keep them out of the way.
That had been months ago, and while Corrigan knew that a man of honor would've long since exposed Gunnar for the scoundrel he was and ruined his name in fine society. But he'd never claimed to be a man of honor, especially not when he found himself in an upstairs guest room for the first time, with Kurt in his bed. One time only, he'd promised himself. Just once. Just to see what it'd be like, see if the youth had potential. Then once more, to see if they'd followed his orders, if they'd actually show up wearing stockings and garters under their stuffy formalwear. Then once more, to see if Kurt really would drop to their knees anywhere he commanded them to.
Then -- well. Then it was too late, and brought them to today, barely screened-in by the hedge maze, likely visible to half a dozen servants. Corrigan had long stopped caring about what servants thought of him, though, so he doesn't hesitate before sliding his big hand into the long, thick waves of chestnut hair and tugging Kurt's head back so they're looking up at him, sweet and submissive and eager.]
Very pretty. [It's a soft, almost gentle compliment, accompanied by Corrigan's hand tightening a bit in the youth's hair.] Though I seem to recall that last time I was here, I didn't call you a Lady. [Corrigan leans in, pressing Kurt back against the leafy wall of the maze, feeling them eagerly arch up into him, his voice low and seductive and wicked.whore.
[Kurt doesn’t know what makes them shiver more. The gentle compliment paired with Corrigan’s fingers wrenching their head back is exquisite, praise and pain both making their knees go weak underneath them. They always knew they liked praise, getting so little of it during their childhood that they uncritically bask in every compliment they ever get—though the fact that pain has the same, if not more of an effect on them, is a brand new discovery.
Yet somehow more delicious, more insidiously and devastatingly seductive, is the cruel pet name. The man calls them a whore, and Kurt shudders, greedily arching their body against him, their breeches already getting tight. Like pain, being viciously degraded was never linked with pleasure until Corrigan entered their life. With each visit, the man has carefully increased the intensity of his attentions and demands to the point where the young Count can’t get off anymore unless they’re restrained, struck, and called lower than a common strumpet.
They wonder what their father would say, if he knew. If he could see them like this, breathless and whining with pleasure, grasping Corrigan with both hands as they’re pressed into the maze wall. Never mind that he probably can.]
Y-Yes, My Lord, of course, you’re— you’re right. You called me a wh-whore. [They tremble, flushed bright red with wanting.] Forgive me. I forget m-my place. I merely hope that I finally look the p-part, My Lord, and that it pleases you.
[Of course he knows. Corrigan knows damn well that the Marquis Engelstedt overhears and glimpses and burns with shame and frustration at the myriad ways Lord Molloy defiles his heir. Then he returns to his cold marriage bed and knows in his soul that he'll never, never approach even a fraction of the bliss Corrigan can gift Kurt with a single touch.
Putting all those thoughts aside, Lord Molloy smiles indulgently down at the youth, at their bright eyes and trembling form and eager, hopeful smile. The hand in their hair softens as he tugs them a bit closer, leaning down to press his lips to their forehead.] Yes, much better, my pet. You look very pretty.
[Twining a strand of hair around a finger, Corrigan arches both eyebrows expectantly.] I wonder, though, if you followed my other instructions. About your undergarments, hm? [A slow, almost feline smile crosses his face.] I think it best you show me how well you obeyed me. Right here. Right now.
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no subject
Date: 2022-11-27 05:20 pm (UTC)Ever since their father—Gunnar Frederick Engelstedt III, Marquis of Himmel—remarried, he had been inviting many a beautiful honored guest to the manor, instructing his strange son to entertain them however they please. The young Count cannot be sure of their father's motives, but they do as they're told, suffering the company of merchants and viscounts and baronesses and military officials if only to escape their father's sour gaze for the day. Every last man and woman they host is insufferably boring. Beautiful, certainly, but so boring. Yet another chore added to their list of duties.
But not Lord Corrigan Molloy. After each of his visits, Kurt finds themself counting the days until his next, breathless with anticipation to see him again. If they could, they would abandon both name and title just to spend every day in his company, entertaining his every whim. Even now, as the welcoming proceedings start ramping down and the staff disperse to tend to their duties, Kurt can feel Lord Molloy's intense gaze on them, tracing every button and ruffle of their formal suit, knowing it hides the delicate undergarments of a lady. They feel his approval like sparks against their skin, a rush of heat and color flooding pale cheeks, a squeeze of anticipation in their muscles like the ropes he so loves to use.
When their father finally leaves Lord Molloy in their care, Kurt beams as they take him on a tour of the gardens, the polite distance between their bodies shrinking by the minute. By the time they step into the hedge maze, they have taken the Lord's hand in their own, grinning excitedly up at him, their free hand pulling their long hair free of its ribbon.]
Do you like it, My Lord? I've let it grow, j-just as you suggested I should. [They teethe gently at their lip, awaiting his response.] Do I look like a Lady yet?
/kisses this post 1000 times
Date: 2022-11-28 05:22 am (UTC)In this situation, Corrigan was the one with the power. He had money (a disgusting amount of it), land, property and, most importantly, nobody to share it with. He wasn't as closely scrutinized as the higher-ranking noblemen were, and if he chose to live his life without wife or heir, that was his business. The Marquis of Himmel was not so lucky -- he had to not only take a wife, but maintain one, and produce heirs suitable of taking on his name. And he had failed at both.
So, his proposal: his new wife (the second he'd had, after the first one's death) did not get along with his heir, and considering she was higher-born and her children would outrank his firstborn, Gunnar had to find some occupation for the mercurial, stubborn youth. Something that would thoroughly captivate their attention, keep them out of the manor on long summer trips and extended weekends away. Thus: the blunt proposal to Corrigan. If he wanted Kurt, in every sense of the word, he could have them. Just keep them out of the way.
That had been months ago, and while Corrigan knew that a man of honor would've long since exposed Gunnar for the scoundrel he was and ruined his name in fine society. But he'd never claimed to be a man of honor, especially not when he found himself in an upstairs guest room for the first time, with Kurt in his bed. One time only, he'd promised himself. Just once. Just to see what it'd be like, see if the youth had potential. Then once more, to see if they'd followed his orders, if they'd actually show up wearing stockings and garters under their stuffy formalwear. Then once more, to see if Kurt really would drop to their knees anywhere he commanded them to.
Then -- well. Then it was too late, and brought them to today, barely screened-in by the hedge maze, likely visible to half a dozen servants. Corrigan had long stopped caring about what servants thought of him, though, so he doesn't hesitate before sliding his big hand into the long, thick waves of chestnut hair and tugging Kurt's head back so they're looking up at him, sweet and submissive and eager.]
Very pretty. [It's a soft, almost gentle compliment, accompanied by Corrigan's hand tightening a bit in the youth's hair.] Though I seem to recall that last time I was here, I didn't call you a Lady. [Corrigan leans in, pressing Kurt back against the leafy wall of the maze, feeling them eagerly arch up into him, his voice low and seductive and wicked.whore.
corry the OG marquis de sade
Date: 2022-11-29 06:21 am (UTC)Yet somehow more delicious, more insidiously and devastatingly seductive, is the cruel pet name. The man calls them a whore, and Kurt shudders, greedily arching their body against him, their breeches already getting tight. Like pain, being viciously degraded was never linked with pleasure until Corrigan entered their life. With each visit, the man has carefully increased the intensity of his attentions and demands to the point where the young Count can’t get off anymore unless they’re restrained, struck, and called lower than a common strumpet.
They wonder what their father would say, if he knew. If he could see them like this, breathless and whining with pleasure, grasping Corrigan with both hands as they’re pressed into the maze wall. Never mind that he probably can.]
Y-Yes, My Lord, of course, you’re— you’re right. You called me a wh-whore. [They tremble, flushed bright red with wanting.] Forgive me. I forget m-my place. I merely hope that I finally look the p-part, My Lord, and that it pleases you.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-30 06:48 am (UTC)Putting all those thoughts aside, Lord Molloy smiles indulgently down at the youth, at their bright eyes and trembling form and eager, hopeful smile. The hand in their hair softens as he tugs them a bit closer, leaning down to press his lips to their forehead.] Yes, much better, my pet. You look very pretty.
[Twining a strand of hair around a finger, Corrigan arches both eyebrows expectantly.] I wonder, though, if you followed my other instructions. About your undergarments, hm? [A slow, almost feline smile crosses his face.] I think it best you show me how well you obeyed me. Right here. Right now.