#breathplay

cagestark:

Reposting this *finally* after it’s sudden and inexplicable disappearance off my blog :(

Readhereon AO3

About this: same age Starker, high school AU. Bad boy Tony and goody two shoes Peter. Features: breathplay, daddy kink, smoking, mentions of drugs and alcohol, violence (not between Tony and Peter), and a homophobic slur. 8.9k.

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MJ stops talking in the middle of her sentence. 

Ned, who has been dozing by her side for the last ten minutes of their lunch break, notices the silence and perks up, blinking sleepily. 

“What is it?” Peter asks. 

“Tony Stark,” she says. “He’s looking at us.” 

All the breath gets sucked from Peter’s lungs. Suddenly his heart pounds. Is this what a heart attack feels like? He might be having a heart attack. The nurse who occupies a tiny room beside the counselor’s office isn’t going to be able to handle this cardiac episode. “What kind of look?” Peter asks. “Assess his look MJ. Does it say, ‘I want to pound your guts’? Wait, should I look? No—you should stop looking—” 

“It’s a look Peter,” she says. “See for yourself.” 

Anxiety wars with curiosity. Somehow, curiosity wins, and Peter (be cool, Pete, be cool and casual) glances over his shoulder. There’s nothing casual about the expression on Tony’s face. It’s apathetic, that’s true, but it is fixed and unflinching even as Peter’s entire lunch table stares back at him across the grassy quad. Around him are his friends—other seniors who have reputations for delinquency—and they laugh and joke raucously but Tony isn’t joining them at all. At the edge of his lips, a cigarette rests. 

Peter swallows. Smoking on school grounds is forbidden. 

MJ throws up both of her hands, mouthing What? She’s the only one with the balls to do that. Peter’s never heard of Tony Stark hitting a woman, but the true depths of the older senior’s depravity are unknown. Unfortunately. 

Tony takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points with it. 

“Oh my god,” Peter says. 

MJ points at herself. Tony shakes his head, points again. MJ points to Ned. Tony’s eyes roll noticeably even from this distance. He points one last time. “He wants you, Petey,” MJ mutters. 

Peter turns to her, glad Tony can’t see the expression on his face. He hopes it’s terrified—because terror is explicable at least. But god forbid the other boy see the pounding of Peter’s heart in his throat, the way his palms have started sweating, the nervous-anxious-excited energy that makes his stomach feel like it’s twisting inside out. “What does he want with me?” 

“Maybe he wants to pound you,” she says flatly. 

Keep reading

Oh goodness, someone get me some cold water because that was fucking hot

The girl was on the floor, unconscious, when I walked into the room. A crop top hides her small breasts from view but she is naked from the waist down. I smile in surprise–someone left me a gift!

TW: dark cardiophilia, non-con

I approach softly, kneeling at the unconscious girl’s side. Her eyes are closed and lips slightly parted, head tilted to one side. Her chest rises and falls gently. I slide the diaphragm of my stethoscope up under the crop top and hear the beat of her heart, steady but a little quick. Her skin is warm, and as I pause there I can feel the pulse of her heart pushing against my steth.

She still seems quite unconscious, and I’m not one to ask too many questions or let a gift go to waste. I continue to listen and feel her heartbeat as my eyes slide down her body. I could touch her now, but I want to savour this moment. I don’t want to take her until I’ve broken her.

She’s breathing fine, but I’d like it better if her breathing were under my control. Leaving my stethoscope where it is, I retrieve an ambubag and secure the mask over her mouth and nose, creating a tight seal. I squeeze the bag, giving her a little air, and watch her chest rise. It falls as I release. She doesn’t stir, but her heart is reactive to the breaths I give her, speeding up as I force air in, slowing down as I let it out.

For a moment I put my hand on her chest, feeling the increasingly palpable thuds of her pump against my palm–her body seems to like this. She’ll like it even better if she were more fully under my control, I think. I slide a syringe and bottle from my bag and deftly slip the needle into her vein. There is no immediately visible effect, but when I stop squeezing the air into her lungs and take the bag away, her breaths stop.

Arousal grows inside me as my eyes fix on her motionless chest. Her heart rate increases as carbon dioxide builds up, as her body begins to realize it can’t take in air on its own. She begins to gasp reflexively. Her mouth opens and closes, her lungs trying to breathe. Her heart is thumping louder and louder in my ears; I can see the pulse in her throat like it’s trying to escape.

I could watch as her heart fails from lack of oxygen but it’s too soon for that. I give her the bag again, a few small squeezes, and remove it to play and watch some more. I put my hand on her chest this time to feel the desperate flexing of muscles as her paralyzed lungs try to breathe. The feeling of her thudding heart pulsing against me is driving me crazy. I want to reach inside her and wrap my hand around it, crush it, feel it spasm and stop.

Instead I let her have a bit more air and then, just for fun, I prop her head up and put a little bottle of my favourite concoction under her nose. It’s a good thing her lungs are still partially paralyzed–if she breathed it in properly, it would stop her heart instantly. As it is, there’s a brief pause while the drug entered her bloodstream through the small vessels in her nose and makes its way to her heart. I listen intently to its rhythm and can detect the exact moment the drug reaches her heart, beginning to spasm wildly.

Her unconscious body begins to shudder desperately and I can’t take it anymore. I straddle her, looking down at her vulnerable chest shaking with the wild beats that wrack her body. I’m going to fuck her as her heart bucks and spasms. I’ll give her just enough air to keep it beating until I’m ready to climax. Then, all bets are off.

I was standing next to Reaction Junkie over on the side of the room, mostly just watching other people’s play. The next thing I knew he had his hand between my legs and was rubbing my clit through my panties. He moved me around in front of him, and I buried my face in his chest, somewhat embarrassed, despite the totally welcoming environment. As he was touching me, several people came up to him to talk. Not a one said “hi” or indicated in any way that they noticed me.

After the last person walked away, Reaction Junkie grabbed my hair and pulled it down, forcing my head up to look at him. He continued rubbing my cunt as he looked down at me and said, “You must be an object because I’ve been having conversations with people and they haven’t even acknowledged you.” I whimpered and pressed back against him, my face hot. Without a doubt, each person he’d talked to had known what he was doing to me. It just wasn’t worth mentioning.

He started whispering things into my ear. Terrible, threatening, sexy things. He turned me around so that I was facing out into the room. He leaned close and said, “How many people would even try to stop me if I choked you and killed you?” I couldn’t respond, but he answered his own question, “None. Not until it was too late.” The threat, and the knowledge that it was true, made me shiver and moan.

The next thing I knew, his hand was over my nose and mouth. He was not yet cutting off my breathing, but I knew that was what would happen next. I tried to make eye contact and sort of shook my head “No.” But it wasn’t a real “No.” I love having things done to me in public. Knowing that people are watching me accept my treatment, that they can tell I know my place, that they can see I’m the sort of cunt who enjoys being hurt and scared and degraded. These are a few of my favorite things. He ignored my feeble and disingenuous attempt to stop him and covered my mouth and squeezed my nose shut.

I didn’t want to panic or struggle too much because I didn’t want to make anyone think he was doing something I didn’t want. I was okay at first, less panicked than usual, likely because we were in public. I thought I might be able to handle it, since I am capable of holding my breath. Soon, however, the lack of oxygen and, more than that, the knowledge that I couldn’t get more if I needed it, took over. I struggled, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull it away from my face. Of course, he didn’t move an inch. He’s much stronger than I am, and we both know it. I panicked more, eventually stepping on his foot and trying to elbow him. He finally let go, holding me up as I half collapsed forward, gasping.

He laughed at me, amused by my panicked struggling and my relief and arousal after he’d let me go. A minute later, his hand was back over my nose and mouth and I couldn’t breathe. Again, I was calm at first, but then his other hand moved up around my throat and squeezed lightly. I was truly frightened that he was going to choke me out while cutting off my air, and he must have seen that I was on the verge of freaking out, because he let go more quickly this time. He laughed again at my reaction. His amusement at my distress and the display of his power and control over me were incredibly attractive and turned me on a great deal.

If he’d wanted to, he could have tightened his hand around my neck, stopping the flow of blood to my brain, and no one would have stopped him, least of all me. He could have kept going until it was too late, leaving me damaged or, more likely, dead. He could have killed me and I wouldn’t, and, realistically, couldn’t, have done anything to stop him. My life, what little it’s worth, doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to him. He decides whether I live or die.

When we got back to The Super Sadist’s apartment, we relaxed for a little while until he decided that it was time for him to use my ass. I cleaned myself out for him (I’m still embarrassed about talking about this subject, by the way.) and came back into the room. He had me head down, ass up. While lubed up his cock, I pushed a couple fingers in and out quickly. He grabbed me and pushed himself into me. I could feel him stretching me out, but it wasn’t toooo painful. In fact, he said it was easier to push into my ass than my cunt. Like Legolas says, I have a “greedy ass and a shallow cunt.” The Super Sadist fucked my ass hard for a while, enjoying his first use of one of the new holes that belong to him.

When he was done with my ass, he pulled out and told me to suck him off. I balked and asked if I could take off the condom. He gave me a look, and then I guess decided to be nice to me, because he said “Take it all the way in once with the condom, and then you can take it off.” That was more than fair, considering the fact that I shouldn’t be hesitating at something so simple as ass to mouth when I’d spent time between his legs, licking his ass. I took his cock all the way into my throat, pushing myself to bottom out. When I came back up, he took the condom off and pushed me back down.  I sucked his cock and then licked his balls and ass until he came.

We took a little breather, and then he decided it was time to take some embarrassing pictures of me. He put a hood on me, added a dental gag, and made me hold the SCUM Manifesto in front of me. Then he used my mouth like that. Now that was interesting. It was both easier and harder than a normal blowjob. I didn’t have to worry about my teeth, really, but I also couldn’t use my tongue, and there was no closing my mouth. Finally, he made me spread my ass for him to look at. He knows I hate inspection-type things. Of course, I hate them in a way that makes my cunt hot. He knows that, as well.

When he was done with the pictures and using my gagged open mouth, we decided to Skype with Marxman. Fun fact: It’s pretty much because of him that The Super Sadist and I got together and that I ended up visiting in him. He very much played matchmaker. (So domintaipei is the one you have to thank, littlefeministbitch/The Super Sadist shippers.) The very least we could do was give him a bit of a show. We talked for a little while, and I cuddled up next to The Super Sadist, being my adorable self. They were talking, and I wasn’t reeeeally paying attention to where the camera was pointed at our end, so when I bent my head down to take The Super Sadist’s cock in my mouth, I didn’t expect Marxman to comment right away.

I grinned when I heard him call me out, but didn’t stop. To the contrary, I started putting on more of a show. I was focused on what I was doing with my tongue, my lips, my hands. I heard Marxman ask in a mildly doubtful tone, “She any good at that?” Like he thought I might be mediocre at best. Of course that turned me on a bit. “Shockingly good,” responded The Super Sadist turning me on even more and making me very happy. I love giving blowjobs and licking balls and ass, especially when the person I’m servicing reacts as much and as positively as The Super Sadist did.

After a little while, I came off his cock, and he started hitting my thighs. I moaned with that wonderful combination of pleasure and pain. Marxman excused himself not long after, and I panted a goodbye to him. The Super Sadist continued hitting me for a while, and then told me he was going to put makeup on me again. He’d done it the first night. It embarrasses me both because I don’t ever wear makeup and because he’s legit better at it than I am. So it both invalidates the way I present myself in everyday life, and illustrates my failings as a proper fucktoy. So of course it makes me squirm with arousal.

Disclaimer for the next bit: For choking, I often, although not always, use a secondary safeword that consists of my hand around their wrist, and removal of that hand indicates “Red.” With blood chokes, which is what we were doing, I am also still capable of speaking and using a verbal safeword as the main safeword. In addition, The Super Sadist was paying very close attention to me the entire time and, by this point, had a good grasp of what it looks like when I go out. We were also still at an early stage in terms of what would get him to stop doing things. Long story short, I was never without a way to communicate I needed him to stop doing something. Actually playing without safewords is tricksy and not a good choice except under specific circumstances.

Once he’d made me pretty, it was time to make me dumb. He wrapped a hand around my throat and squeezed, making me thrust my hips and whimper. Then he pulled me over and put his arm around my throat, making it easy for him to cause me to fade. He told me to give into the fog. He pointed out his power over me. How easy it would be for him to just keep squeezing until I was actually dumb. I had my hand on his wrist and let go. He stopped choking me and checked in. I was perfectly fine and ready for more, so we continued in that way for a while. He got me very close to going out several times and sent me all the way out at least once. Then the game changed.

His arm was around my neck and I felt myself going fuzzy. I decided to drop my hand. He didn’t stop. I thought maybe he hadn’t realized what I was doing, so I grabbed his arm and then let go. His hold around my neck didn’t loosen at all. I pulled at him, started to struggle, feeling a panic rising. He moved his arm, and I gasped, although I’d been able to breathe the whole time. My mind was fuzzy still, but now it was from arousal, not lack of blood to the brain. My hips bucked on their own as I said hazily, “Yer supposed ta stop when I move my hand away.” “I know,” he said in that way he says things. I whimpered and moaned, which thoroughly undermined my response of “That’s baaaad.” We both knew how incredibly turned on I was. It wasn’t the same as playing without a safeword, because I still had one, but it was a rush that was similar to how I imagine playing without a safeword would feel.

By the end of the evening, he’d put me all the way out at least twice, and gotten me very very close a few more times. The final time I came to, I realized how completely exhausted I was. I told him I was done, and we got ready to go to sleep. We crawled into bed and cuddled up with each other. Hee. I was the big spoon, and I put my arm around him as I passed the fuck out, already looking forward to the next day.