FIC: The Fall of Angels (Torsten Barring/Laura Erika Barring, NC-17), part 7/15
Title: The Fall of Angels (part 7/15, completed fic)
Author: snowgrouse
Fandom: A Woman's Face (1941), original fiction
Pairing: Torsten Barring/Laura Erika Barring, Torsten/Laura/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Erotica, darkfic, horror
Warnings: Incest, underage, hard BDSM, noncon, watersports, fisting, scat, abuse, graphic violence (see Ao3 for full list of tags)
Length: ~97 000 words
Summary: Once Torsten and Laura know their song is coming to an end, their lust and their rage are unstoppable. Together, they set out to avenge themselves against a society that had sought to suffocate their desires--and to enjoy each last one of the world's pleasures to the fullest.
A/N: The third and final part of Devilry. Torsten and Laura go down in flames. Darker, kinkier and more violent than the previous two parts combined; please heed the warnings.
(This was a public toilet. I shivered as I knelt on the concrete floor, blindfolded, with my arms tied behind my back, my dress knotted crudely at the front so that my breasts and my pussy were exposed. I was terrified, frightened out of my wits, yet I had asked for this myself, hadn't I? But now I had second thoughts, still hung over and nauseous from our drinking last night, trembling in withdrawal, Torsten not having allowed me to soften this experience in any way whatsoever. He stood beside me, holding me on a dog's leash, leaning back against the wall, smoking. He had told me it was a toilet popular with perverts, with homosexuals looking for a quick suck, and that added to my terror: I had seen enough woman-hating homosexuals to fear they might just beat me up, and Torsten most certainly wasn't built like a bodyguard. Yet, I had acquiesced to this even as I had understood the danger of it: it was exactly because there was still some part of me that feared something that I needed to do this. I did not want to feel fear, wanted to conquer fear, whether it was that of beatings or rape or any other form of abuse. This was a test I had set for myself, and I was going to pass, no matter what.
The toilet, of course, stank to high heaven; the sharp smell of male piss stung my nostrils like needles, the smell of shit making my nausea even worse. The concrete had ruined my stockings and my knees hurt; we had been waiting for someone to enter for a long while now. Torsten had given me Coca-Cola to drink so that my bladder was full, so full that I was hurting, the way the cola enhanced my circulation making my pussy ache, too.
"Please, Daddy."
"Please, what?" He laughed and shifted; even when I couldn't see him, I could feel he was slinking his hips.
"I need to piss."
"Only when I allow it."
It was then that we finally heard someone approaching. "Stay still and open your mouth," Torsten said, stumping his cigarette. "And don't speak unless I tell you to."
Going by the gasp I now heard, the man who had just entered the toilet was young. His feet stopped, scraped the floor a little, as if he was going to turn away.
"There's a perfectly good urinal here, sir," Torsten drawled. "Go on. Free of charge.")
Author: snowgrouse
Fandom: A Woman's Face (1941), original fiction
Pairing: Torsten Barring/Laura Erika Barring, Torsten/Laura/OCs
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Erotica, darkfic, horror
Warnings: Incest, underage, hard BDSM, noncon, watersports, fisting, scat, abuse, graphic violence (see Ao3 for full list of tags)
Length: ~97 000 words
Summary: Once Torsten and Laura know their song is coming to an end, their lust and their rage are unstoppable. Together, they set out to avenge themselves against a society that had sought to suffocate their desires--and to enjoy each last one of the world's pleasures to the fullest.
A/N: The third and final part of Devilry. Torsten and Laura go down in flames. Darker, kinkier and more violent than the previous two parts combined; please heed the warnings.
(This was a public toilet. I shivered as I knelt on the concrete floor, blindfolded, with my arms tied behind my back, my dress knotted crudely at the front so that my breasts and my pussy were exposed. I was terrified, frightened out of my wits, yet I had asked for this myself, hadn't I? But now I had second thoughts, still hung over and nauseous from our drinking last night, trembling in withdrawal, Torsten not having allowed me to soften this experience in any way whatsoever. He stood beside me, holding me on a dog's leash, leaning back against the wall, smoking. He had told me it was a toilet popular with perverts, with homosexuals looking for a quick suck, and that added to my terror: I had seen enough woman-hating homosexuals to fear they might just beat me up, and Torsten most certainly wasn't built like a bodyguard. Yet, I had acquiesced to this even as I had understood the danger of it: it was exactly because there was still some part of me that feared something that I needed to do this. I did not want to feel fear, wanted to conquer fear, whether it was that of beatings or rape or any other form of abuse. This was a test I had set for myself, and I was going to pass, no matter what.
The toilet, of course, stank to high heaven; the sharp smell of male piss stung my nostrils like needles, the smell of shit making my nausea even worse. The concrete had ruined my stockings and my knees hurt; we had been waiting for someone to enter for a long while now. Torsten had given me Coca-Cola to drink so that my bladder was full, so full that I was hurting, the way the cola enhanced my circulation making my pussy ache, too.
"Please, Daddy."
"Please, what?" He laughed and shifted; even when I couldn't see him, I could feel he was slinking his hips.
"I need to piss."
"Only when I allow it."
It was then that we finally heard someone approaching. "Stay still and open your mouth," Torsten said, stumping his cigarette. "And don't speak unless I tell you to."
Going by the gasp I now heard, the man who had just entered the toilet was young. His feet stopped, scraped the floor a little, as if he was going to turn away.
"There's a perfectly good urinal here, sir," Torsten drawled. "Go on. Free of charge.")