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wisdomeagleSo this time I'm posting the porn battle fics here as I write them, to spare flist-spammage when the fest ends. Also, everyone go play, okay?
Title: "Hot for Teacher (Cold for Student)"
Fandom: Loving Annabelle
Pairing: Annabelle/Simone
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Discussion of BDSM content and a student/teacher relationship. (That is totally canon. Woohoo!)
Notes: For the 6th Porn Battle. Also posted here. The prompt was BDSM.
Disclaimer: Characters and concept by Katherine Brooks. Me, I'm just messing around.
Summary: Sticks and stones (are not the answer).
Wordcount: 667 words
Hot for Teacher (Cold for Student)
When Simone falls back into Annabelle's life -- or when Annabelle dangles her fishhook again, promising that this time she'll land her whopper -- Simone hasn't changed, just aged. Annabelle feels older, wiser. She stopped coloring her hair, has ditched the gaudy prayer beads and their memories but not the faith they symbolize, has graduated from college and remained cutting edge (which meant finding the next drugs and poets and artists, forever one step beyond what was comfortable). But Simone hasn't grown at all. Her eyes are vacant, her skin hollow, like the pain of life has cauterized, leaving her an expressionless statue, indescribably beautiful and utterly empty.
Simone never smiles. Annabelle tries sexy boots and short-ass skirts, tries faux innocent uniforms left over from the boarding school year, too small now, showing off every curve, every cup size, but Simone never smiles. Simone was easy. That's what she remembers most. Not Miss Bradley, wet dream of dozens, but Simone, coming and coming and coming from Annabelle's hissed, "Fuck me," bawling into Annabelle's cunt, twisting against her thighs.
Simone now is immune to those tricks, too spirit-sick to consume Annabelle properly. They fuck, because they've always fucked, because there are only poetry and orgasms between them, and shared sadness that's too unspeakable for either, so they fuck, and Simone is giving, gracious, lets Annabelle eat her like she's granting a boon, lets Annabelle hump her like she was made to be a sex toy. She doesn't move when Annabelle fingers her, doesn't moan as Annabelle scratches and tickles and teases her clit, doesn't smile when she orgasms but whimpers in pain: all fizz, no fireworks.
"Simone, lover. Are you enjoying this at all?"
Simone shrugs, and it's high school again: any answer would be an admission of guilt. This never happened, this can't happen, don't you see? It's wrong. We're wrong.
"Dude, it's sex, I'm way of age, you should be beside yourself with glee."
"Glee?"
"Happiness, joy, delight! Simone. Come on. I won't come baaaack." This never works; she's too schoolgirl, and being pushed into schoolmarm makes Simone grumpy and lost. She's forgotten her lines.
"There are other ways," Simone says, and this might be The Conversation, the we should use dildoes/handcuffs/real live ponies and/or hang gliders and then the sex would be awesome and I'd love you again. But it's not, because Simone won't say, falls back into pouting in her pristine living room, staring mutely, waiting for Annabelle to catch her cue.
"Spanking," she guesses. Simone shakes her head. "Whips and paddles? Chains?"
"Warmer," says Simone, almost smiling. And Annabelle thinks shit and Annabelle thinks no way and Annabelle is done with nuns.
But Simone isn't, never will be. For Annabelle Buddhism is a groovy accessory, maybe a longterm goal -- to be Zen, to chill, to do what she wants because the world's an illusion, something something but it's not real. But for Simone Catholicism is life, for Simone Jesus really is Lamb and Life and Vine and Crucified God, and for Simone pain is not kink and submission is not a sexy piece of flair. Annabelle could round up all the props she wanted, could whip Simone with a crown of thorns and lead her around by her rosary but she could never be the mistress Simone needs. She could never believe in Simone's guilt, never crawl inside Simone's emptiness and fill her with Holy Spirit, could never whip her deeply enough because Simone needs to be flayed, layer after layer, skin and masks and excuses and lies, and Annabelle could spank her, could tie her to the bedposts with cheap scarves and call her saucy minx and naughty teacher, but she could never strip her bare, never believe she deserved it. Never, truly punish, only play.
She smiles, quirky, ironic.
"Cat o'nines and a corset?" she guesses wrong, again and again, dancing away from their core.
Title: "Hot for Teacher (Cold for Student)"
Fandom: Loving Annabelle
Pairing: Annabelle/Simone
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Discussion of BDSM content and a student/teacher relationship. (That is totally canon. Woohoo!)
Notes: For the 6th Porn Battle. Also posted here. The prompt was BDSM.
Disclaimer: Characters and concept by Katherine Brooks. Me, I'm just messing around.
Summary: Sticks and stones (are not the answer).
Wordcount: 667 words
Hot for Teacher (Cold for Student)
When Simone falls back into Annabelle's life -- or when Annabelle dangles her fishhook again, promising that this time she'll land her whopper -- Simone hasn't changed, just aged. Annabelle feels older, wiser. She stopped coloring her hair, has ditched the gaudy prayer beads and their memories but not the faith they symbolize, has graduated from college and remained cutting edge (which meant finding the next drugs and poets and artists, forever one step beyond what was comfortable). But Simone hasn't grown at all. Her eyes are vacant, her skin hollow, like the pain of life has cauterized, leaving her an expressionless statue, indescribably beautiful and utterly empty.
Simone never smiles. Annabelle tries sexy boots and short-ass skirts, tries faux innocent uniforms left over from the boarding school year, too small now, showing off every curve, every cup size, but Simone never smiles. Simone was easy. That's what she remembers most. Not Miss Bradley, wet dream of dozens, but Simone, coming and coming and coming from Annabelle's hissed, "Fuck me," bawling into Annabelle's cunt, twisting against her thighs.
Simone now is immune to those tricks, too spirit-sick to consume Annabelle properly. They fuck, because they've always fucked, because there are only poetry and orgasms between them, and shared sadness that's too unspeakable for either, so they fuck, and Simone is giving, gracious, lets Annabelle eat her like she's granting a boon, lets Annabelle hump her like she was made to be a sex toy. She doesn't move when Annabelle fingers her, doesn't moan as Annabelle scratches and tickles and teases her clit, doesn't smile when she orgasms but whimpers in pain: all fizz, no fireworks.
"Simone, lover. Are you enjoying this at all?"
Simone shrugs, and it's high school again: any answer would be an admission of guilt. This never happened, this can't happen, don't you see? It's wrong. We're wrong.
"Dude, it's sex, I'm way of age, you should be beside yourself with glee."
"Glee?"
"Happiness, joy, delight! Simone. Come on. I won't come baaaack." This never works; she's too schoolgirl, and being pushed into schoolmarm makes Simone grumpy and lost. She's forgotten her lines.
"There are other ways," Simone says, and this might be The Conversation, the we should use dildoes/handcuffs/real live ponies and/or hang gliders and then the sex would be awesome and I'd love you again. But it's not, because Simone won't say, falls back into pouting in her pristine living room, staring mutely, waiting for Annabelle to catch her cue.
"Spanking," she guesses. Simone shakes her head. "Whips and paddles? Chains?"
"Warmer," says Simone, almost smiling. And Annabelle thinks shit and Annabelle thinks no way and Annabelle is done with nuns.
But Simone isn't, never will be. For Annabelle Buddhism is a groovy accessory, maybe a longterm goal -- to be Zen, to chill, to do what she wants because the world's an illusion, something something but it's not real. But for Simone Catholicism is life, for Simone Jesus really is Lamb and Life and Vine and Crucified God, and for Simone pain is not kink and submission is not a sexy piece of flair. Annabelle could round up all the props she wanted, could whip Simone with a crown of thorns and lead her around by her rosary but she could never be the mistress Simone needs. She could never believe in Simone's guilt, never crawl inside Simone's emptiness and fill her with Holy Spirit, could never whip her deeply enough because Simone needs to be flayed, layer after layer, skin and masks and excuses and lies, and Annabelle could spank her, could tie her to the bedposts with cheap scarves and call her saucy minx and naughty teacher, but she could never strip her bare, never believe she deserved it. Never, truly punish, only play.
She smiles, quirky, ironic.
"Cat o'nines and a corset?" she guesses wrong, again and again, dancing away from their core.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-29 03:46 am (UTC)and i like that you tie that else-where-ness to simone's catholicism, something which the director (especially from what we watched in the special features) was completely out of touch with and couldn't have represented authentically if we had held a gun to her head. (makes me think of what she [director] said about the golden crosses she had bought on ebay... how the set people had made off with them "because they must have thought they were worth something *snort*"....*spasm of supreme annoyance*) anyway, it's so nice to read your fic and feel simone to be finally invested with a luminous, devout interiority.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-29 03:54 am (UTC)And this, of course, is a Simone I could fall for, unlike the Simone in the film who's the most vapid teacher ever.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-29 02:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-29 09:14 pm (UTC)Hottest thing ever, y/y?
Thank you so much! That's how I feel about the film too.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-30 08:31 pm (UTC)Hottest thing ever, y/y?
God, yes, I just wish I could could get past the guh! response long enough to come up with a suitably intellectual reason as to why. Any theories? In fact I even give characters with no stated religion loads of Catholic guilt (or at least a bit of a complex) if they look like it would fit them. See my version of Faith as proof *g*
Thank you so much! That's how I feel about the film too.
You are very welcome. I enjoyed this ficlet a great deal, (I always admire your writing) I wish the film had come close to being as good.