#prisoner
Pas facile d’être soi même dans ce monde. Je me cache toujours derrière un masque pour me protéger, pour moins souffrir (enfin je tente de m’en persuader). J’ai besoin de ce masque pour cacher mes émotions, mes faiblesses… Alors je deviens forte, insensible, parfois méchante… cette autre image de moi me rassure même si elle ne reflète en rien ma réalité de vie… Ce masque est malheureusement devenu une question de survie et j’espère qu’un jour, j’arriverai à le faire tomber. A vivre cette vie, la vraie, qui est certainement meilleure que celle dans laquelle je suis prisonnière.
Happy Whumptober!!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/34193851
Fic Summary: A “business as usual” protection money collection assignment at a pub goes slightly awry when one of the patrons spirits Bucciarati away from the establishment in an attempt to use him as an unwilling getaway driver.
Captive soldier VI - Prologue
Darren’s team starts a operation to save Frank.
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Spandex Prisoner
My shabby Elden Boy. He puts on the iron mask when he feels misery akin to his daily lot before becoming undea- er, bearer of the curse? No, I mean unkindled- or -
6/11
Portrait of a German soldier in a prisoner of war camp. July 1917.
Original image source: Canadian Library and Archives
GWICwill be posting one portrait each day until November 11th.
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She awoke to a curious sensation at the back of her throat. A pressure was forcing its way up her gullet, pulsing rhythmically as though repeatedly swallowing in reverse. Her eyes flicked open, only to squint closed again having met the harsh green light that seared the base of her vision. An unnatural grogginess burdened her return to consciousness and the heaviness of her body drained her energy. In the glowing green blindness, the woman attempted to assess her situation.
At first she assumed she was choking, her gag reflex perhaps triggering in emergency; yet, she didn’t feel the acridness of asphyxiation in her chest. No, her breathing was unlabored but for the shock of awakening. To the contrary, as she took in the thin, metallic air of her surroundings, she was suddenly aware of how easily it entered her lungs, despite not registering any motion through her mouth or nose.
Her heartbeat rose ever so slightly, ever so sharply.
The pendulous weight of her chest rose and fell with increasingly shallow breath. Indeed, as her faculties returned to her she noted the weight of her body and the unpleasant ergonomics of her arms and legs. The pressure in her throat subsided briefly with a tingle, shrinking into nothingness between her collarbones. The brisk chill of a sudden draft across her back and breasts and she knew she was naked: at odds with the warm bed sheets she had retired to that evening. The woman motioned to dispel the goosebumps forming across her arms and bosom, as well as preserve her modesty in that uncertain environment.
Or she would have, were she able to move. The haze with which she awoke had all but faded by then, but the weight of her limbs was ominously unchanged. Immobilized, her heartbeat rose further while her muscles tensed and strained, confirming it was not a night terror or bout of sleep paralysis. In little time, she identified the supposed exhaustion beleaguering her arms and legs to be solid encasement.
Her supple body squeezed against her restraints as the pressure returned, this time more vigorously. Her heart raced in double time as she discerned the pulsation now dominating and distending her gullet to be unequivocally foreign.
The pressure built into a pounding, each cycle creeping closer to her uvula. She willed her eyes open, desperately looking as far upwards and away into the darkness for any sign or signal as to the nature of her predicament. As she craned her head backward though, the object compressing her insides shot forward, far past her uvula and into the chamber of her mouth. She felt herself gag truly as vomit erupted from her body, but the taste of bile was lost before it reached her tongue. The object, notably fleshy and organically rigid, burgeoned across her tongue in its place and she found in it an unexpectedly familiar flavor. It was pressing up against her teeth now, the length of its girth following from the root of her distorted neck all the way to the cusp of her lips. The taste was unmistakable, but before she could place it, her body was rocked with another round of gagging and the unidentified appendage burst through her newly agape mouth.
She saw it rise into the lower arc of her vision as the scene changed, spinning about until coming to rest on even more green lights. Tears had not yet begun to well in her eyes when the image resolved to reveal the silhouette of her familiar bust, side by side with her moistening ass. It was a brief moment before the connection was made between the green disks sectioning her body in half, the disk around the stump of her neck, and that hellish green glow sharing origins with the cock protruding from her lips.
There was no telling how long it would last, she knew. She considered her chances of fighting, of escape. Alas, it would be a grisly end if the power to the portals keeping her alive were to be cut. There was nothing to do but wait for her captor to finish.
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Hunted by Meagan Spooner
James Parker
Thomas Traficante
After intake.
Your ‘designer’ clothes have been taken, and replaced with a humiliating pink jumpsuit and cheap thermal. Your Nikes are gone, and you’ve got ugly, plastic slides.
Chained up until someone decides to let you out.
You belong to the county now.
Sean Davis & Lamar Sumrall
Getting ready for transport to county.
New jumpsuit - hot pink!
Stacked speedcuffs with shackles and slides!
