bitchtresslopez - Tumblr blog

bitchtresslopez · 8 years

Text

brittanybound :

Brittany liked this game.

Santana was stunning in just the black underwear she favored, and Brittany’s gaze lingered around it for long moments, before being just as mesmerized by the rest of her body swaying in front of her.

“So hot,” she mumbled, shaking her as if it were impossible to believe just how hot Santana was. But it was real, and that was the part that had Brittany’s mouth parting as she stared, entranced.

Not a sheep. Brittany shook her head in earnest now, “Not a sheep,” she agreed out loud, mostly just to keep Santana moving like that – Brittany never wanted it to end – but it was also true. Santana wasn’t a follower, and she wasn’t nearly fluffy enough to be a sheep, besides the whole teeth issue, which Santana rightly pointed out. Brittany nodded faintly as she approached, lost in the steady rhythm of Santana’s hips nearly at eye level.

So that means you’re allowed anything you want.

“Awesome,” Brittany breathed, breaking into a wide and blissful grin. She beamed up at Santana with a matching expression as she ran her hands over the backs of toned thighs, ever so gently urging her to stand even closer between her own legs. She pressed her lips to Santana’s hipbone first, barely a kiss before brushing her lips along the top of the thin silky material. She nipped at the garment, tugging it just enough to be playful.

Brittany really liked this game.

Everything seemed so simple, and easy. And fun. Brittany stroked her fingers higher as she caressed the backs of Santana’s thighs, keeping her beautiful, warm, goddess-self close. She wanted to make Santana feel good, just as good as she felt right now, but she also wanted her to keep moving – she wanted to keep watching the lines and curves of her body melting into the music.

She knew how it felt to move like that, but she’d never been on this end before, the watching end. It was just as desirable. Every day, tense Santana wouldn’t put on a show like this for her, and Brittany didn’t want to give it up just yet.

Brittany pressed a soft kiss between Santana’s legs, running her tongue briefly over the silky design of the fabric before pulling back. “I want you to keep these on,” she shot a devilish smile upwards. “At least for now.” She peppered a series of short kisses over Santana’s lower stomach before brushing gentle fingers up along her sides and over her breast.

(She didn’t always get the privilege of touching wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and it was exhilarating. Was this what it felt like for Santana all the time?)

“I want you to dance a little more.” Brittany smiled yet again, mostly to herself, and made no move to encourage Santana away. “But close. Right here. That’s what I want,” she prayed out loud, her tone hopeful (and a little thrilled with possibility). “Please.”

Santana’s usual modus operandi would be to grab Brittany’s hair and hold her mouth firmly in place, because she really had no business taking her mouth anywhere else, but this time she stilled her hands before they could cup the back of her head.

She was glad she hadn’t, even with how fantastic the briefest touch of Brittany’s tongue had been, because the downright erotic smile sent up to her was more than worth a little restraint.

Eager to give her hands something to do, Santana hooked a thumb under the band of her underwear and cocked one side down. “These? Are you sure?” she asked, her eyes gleaming as they inched down further, but soon relented with Brittany’s request and let the bad snap back into place. “For now,” she agreed, though there was no doubt in her mind that it couldn’t come soon enough.

It was usually Santana telling Brittany when and where she could touch; or rather, when and where Santana wanted touching. This was different. Santana had no idea where Brittany’s hands might go next, and she found the idea more exciting than she’d ever thought possible. It was the anticipation. Santana always knew what was coming next because she always told Brittany what to do, but she found it a lot more difficult to predict when she wasn’t barking out orders.

Impossible, really.

Taking her time, Santana raised her hands over head own head to keep from giving into the temptation of leading Brittany as she normally did. “I think I can do that for you.” She was already here and she was already dancing, so it really wasn’t such a stretch to continue doing so, especially not for Brittany. The music still surrounded them, and it didn’t take much for Santana to fall back into it with ease. She had never been much of a dancer before, but now her entire body was so ready to just let go and give in to whatever the beat called from her.

“And you did say ‘please’,” she teased, tossing Brittany a self-satisfied wink before dropping low and turning in place, putting on quite the show with her torturously slow grind up. Now Santana remembered why she didn’t tend to do this – nobody else deserved the view of Santana Lopez rising up between their legs. It would be wasted on them, but Brittany would appreciate it.

“I love it when you say ‘please’,” Santana admitted, taking a moment to let Brittany catch how her hips were running through the air before twisting round and leaning over her. “It means I’m doing by job right if you’re polite.” She placed her hands over the top of the chair, careful not to touch her, and let her body hover just over Brittany’s torso with a mischievous grin. “And I just really like hearing you beg for me. There’s that, too.” Santana shrugged shamelessly and drew away just before her lips could come close to Brittany’s. She returned to her slow dance instead, and never once tore her gaze away from the one she was certain to be following her every move.

“How bad do you want to touch, Britt-Britt?” she asked with a feral smile, dipping down low between Brittany’s legs again. This time she didn’t come up. She crouched down, looking up at Brittany as she dropped to her knees and ran her hands up the sides of Brittany’s legs. Santana copied Brittany’s kisses across her lower stomach, except she stopped and slid her tongue out to lick across hot skin with a loaded laugh. “I can dance again?”

Bad Things Happen

#I'm just taking the opportunity to have Santana do what Santana 1.0 never would...#not without some alcohol of brownies #para #bad things happen

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 8 years

Text

brittanybound :

Brittany’s smiled widened immediately. She leaned into the hand rubbing at her thigh, still basking in the glow of Santana’s effective reassurance. “Yeah?” Fun sounded good – better than good. But weren’t they already having fun?

Santana’s comment about darkness was wonderfully dulled by the numbish edge of Brittany’s contentment, and she was more than happy to ignore it. Besides, Santana didn’t mean the kind that kept Brittany awake at night, she meant the fun kind, and the anticipation of it made Brittany kiss her back boldly.

But why did Santana keep taking her lips away? All Brittany wanted to do was kiss her! She followed with with a small pout forming, until she realized what was better than kissing.

Spaghetti?

No. Stripping…and stuff.

Her delighted smile returned as she fell backwards into the chair Santana always reserved her only herself, and Brittany marveled at it. A sticky, swirly rhythm filled the room soon after and it reminded Brittany of another drunk, thudding beat, of reversed positions and Santana’s hands on her hips and wicked smirk on her lips. Her head rushed with the memories and she licked her lips, slouching back in the chair to watch Santana with a heavy gaze.

Santana might have been a lot of things, but she knew fun.

“Mhm.” Brittany hummed and nodded in agreement at Santana’s accurate self-praise, watching every move of her hips and the invisible, magic lines her hands were drawing over her bare stomach. Hot. So hot. She opened her mouth to speak, but Santana cut her off with a pointed direction and Brittany closed it again, a dark, mischievous look in her eye. Santana would get close enough eventually, and Brittany would be ready.

What is ‘stuff’, exactly?

‘Stuff’ could be a lot of things – but right now, Brittany’s imagination was zooming in on a few things. Things that had nothing to do with her original intent. Her eyes were having a hard time straying from where they’d locked on to her Mistress’s fumbling fingers around the buttons of her pants, but she finally managed to drag them up, soaking in the whole sight as she made her way up to Santana’s eyes.

Santana was truly a goddess.

Really, she was glowing and everything – and Brittany wanted to worship her. She needed to.

She launched herself forward to sit on the very edge of the coveted armchair, just barely keeping herself attached to it at all. “Most ‘stuff’ requires me being a little closer,” Brittany tried to keep her composure, leaning forward as much as she could. She was still nowhere close to being within arm’s reach of Santana and she huffed a little impatiently, bouncing lightly on the edge of the seat. “Or you closer,” she added, her eyes drawn magnetically to Santana. That would work too.

Santana’s pants were still on, and with her usual decorum evaporated into the happy mist inside her head, Brittany wondered if the fact that Santana had put her in The Chair meant she could call the shots. “You could…take them off?” She tried, a playfully bold smile slipping around the tentative edges of the question.

She reached for the shorts Santana had given her to wear to Wyatt’s and started tugging them down her legs – maybe Santana would take the hint.

When Santana was Caretaker, and it wouldn’t be long now, she would make it law for ‘stripping and stuff’ to happen every night with Brittany. This was too much fun, and far better than any boring paperwork or the repetitive nature of acquiring and punishing slaves. This is what she wanted to do, and no-one would be able to stop her from doing what she wanted once she was in charge.

Especially if Brittany always looked at her like she wanted to eat Santana up. Maybe she should just skip the stripping and get straight on to the stuff.

But wait, that would mean she’d have to stop dancing and then Brittany would stop looking at her like that, and she definitely wanted that heated stare to continue for as long as possible.

“You could…take them off?”

Oh, her pants! Stripping definitely included taking off her pants, even if she’d much rather Brittany take them off for her, and Santana swayed her hips in time to the music so she could send her a suggestive look over a shoulder as she brought them down her legs. “I could,” she agreed, making a point to slip them down achingly slow as she held Brittany’s gaze, which was difficult when her own eyes kept drifting to the way the other girl was removing her own shorts.

“Anything else?” Santana liked this game. She would do anything for Brittany, she had to have known that by now, and stripping and stuff seemed like the perfect way to express that sentiment. Dancing in her underwear wasn’t something Santana did for just anyone. In fact, the only time Santana had ever seen it before had been when slaves had been ordered to put on a show.

That pulled her up short. Her hair was tousled and she was only down to a set of striking black underwear now, but Santana still managed to appear completely in control as her hands settled on her hips. “Not that I’m like a slave. That’s ridiculous. It’d be like comparing a wolf to a sheep.” Very slow, very stupid sheep – except for Brittany, who was always the exception, obviously.

“My teeth are too sharp to be a sheep.” Santana bared her teeth in a broad smile and snapped them together with a laugh, regaining her rhythm and moving her hips to the slow beat. “But I can still dance for you because I love you. That makes it different.” She edged into Brittany’s space and stepped between her legs. She ran her hands up through her own disheveled hair and smiled down brightly to the woman just beneath her. “So that means you’re allowed anything you want.”

Bad Things Happen

#Wrought iron place would probably be quite fitting for the kind of environment these two are in #and at least Santana isn't crying this time!#para #bad things happen

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 8 years

Text

brittanybound :

You should have told me.

Brittany nodded immediately, biting her lip. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought – I thought it might have been my fault…he didn’t like when I didn’t eat.” The urge to fall silent was overwhelming, but Brittany steeled herself to finish. Santana wasn’t nearly as upset with her for withholding the truth as she could have been and it gave her all the strength she needed to keep talking.

Even if very quietly.

“I thought it might have been a punishment…I thought I deserved it.” Even now it was hard to completely abolish the thought and Brittany swallowed thickly, bolstered by Santana’s lack of anger (at her, anyway). It was not easy to think about it – this was why she didn’t, most of the time. She couldn’t. “When you got me back I just wanted to forget, to pretend it didn’t happen.”

She submitted gratefully to Santana’s kiss, every word of hers like soothing balm over the rawness the memory had brought up. Santana would handle it. She’d take care of it – and Brittany – like she always did, and the reminder of that fact wrapped around Brittany like a warm, safe blanket.

All she needed to do was whatever she could to help her to get there, whatever Santana asked of her, and that, Brittany knew she could do with excellence.

And then we can kill him.

The look in Santana’s eyes might have been frightening if Brittany hadn’t realized it wasn’t for her, but she did – it was for Puck, and that was reassuring.

(And a little exciting, if she was really honest. What would it feel like, to have that power, in that moment?)

Brittany’s head spun and she wobbled, but braced herself as soon as she saw that Santana was reaching for her. Both of them managed to keep their balance and the corners of her lips lifted for the first time in the past few minutes at Santana’s promise. “Okay,” she nodded, letting out a great whooshing exhale. If Santana said Puck would be stripped of his power, his life, everything he possibly had to lose, then it would happen, and Brittany would be there to see it.

Back on the floor, Santana was once again several inches shorter than Brittany. As cute as Brittany privately thought it was, somehow she usually ended up feeling like she was still looking up at Santana anyway – or smiling at her, as the case was now.

“I like when you talk about this,” she confessed with a loose grin, after a brief pause in which the contents of her brain seemed to melt into a swirly, hazy puddle once again. “Revenge. Killing and stripping and stuff. It’s hot.”

Santana was going to take her time hurting Puck for what he’d done. It was common knowledge among everyone that Santana had earned her place at the council’s table, and it wasn’t for shying away from a fight. If Puck thought he’d seen the worst of Mistress Lopez during her punishments with slaves, then he would be sorely mistaken. A disobedient slave was a minor nuisance; irritating, but something to be expected when they were mid-training. Another Master touching her property, though…that hadn’t happened before.

And for good reason. Nobody else was ever stupid enough to try.

“The only time you deserve a punishment, Britt, is when it comes from me. You know that.” Santana had never been quiet in her disapproval of the other Masters around Brittany, or to their own faces for that matter, but maybe it was time for a reminder. “Those rich boys flying in with their money and smug faces, they’re not Masters. They want something to fuck and they have enough money to buy it, but they’re not Masters.” They were idiots who wanted a quick fantasy fuck, but who got cold feet the moment they realized that more was expected from them. They were fickle and weak, and Santana had no time for them.

“I take care of you. I feed you and look out for you. I kiss you,” she couldn’t hold back a silly smile at the prospect of kissing Brittany, because she really was so, so pretty, and quickly landed a messy kiss to the girl’s lips. “I love you. I’m the only one who gives you a punishment when you deserve it, and I promise,” Santana giggled against her mouth, feeling her easy buzz returning with the taste of Brittany’s lips, and she brought her hand down to Brittany’s thigh with a light smack, her fingers rubbing over her sore skin a moment later to soothe any pain. “You don’t deserve it. You deserve some fun.”

She deserved fun, and so did Santana. There was so much stress lingering over them and pushing their shoulders down with the weight of it all, when really she wanted to throw it all off and be with Brittany. “I think you have a little darkness in you, Britt-Britt,” she teased, guiding her face down so she could kiss her, deep and confident, her fingers tugging at blonde hair.

Santana walked them out the kitchen and felt her toes sink into the plush carpet of her living area. It must be what walking on clouds was like, because kissing Brittany was Heaven. “And I can’t kill anyone for you right now…well, I could, but it’d be messy. Like spaghetti. But I can do the stripping and stuff.” She could do a lot of stripping and stuff. Santana sent Brittany a devilish grin and pushed her back forcefully and toward the comfortable armchair she saved for herself. She left Brittany to sit down while she sauntered over to her iPod dock to put on some music, swaying and humming to the rhythm that soon followed.

“I already have my top off, so I’m doing really well so far.” There was never a bad moment to compliment yourself. Santana let her hands run down her torso to highlight her point and moved her hips in lazy patterns, tilting her head back. The music was in her. She could feel it thudding and pulsing all through her body, and all she could do was dance to it.

For Brittany, she remembered, and Santana’s head came up with a dark smile. “Stay there,” she instructed, and Santana pointed a finger Brittany’s way. “I’m stripping and stuff for you.” The buttons to her pants were being a little tricky with her addled mind, so there was a lot more fumbling than Santana would have liked, but she finally worked the clasp open and threw Brittany a look thick with suggestion. “What is ‘stuff’, exactly?”

Bad Things Happen

#at least she gets a dance from Santana #there's always that #bad things happen #para

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

brittanybound :

Who would you like to murder next?

Brittany melted a little inside at the sweetness of her tone. Nobody else got to see it besides her, but her Mistress was the sweetest person in the whole world.

…some of the time, anyway.

Smiling adoringly, Brittany let her fingers trace with reverence along Santana’s skin. Her overwhelming sweetness aside, it was a good question. She nodded in immediate agreement at the suggestion to have it be a Master – of course. None of the slaves here deserved to die, but the Masters were a different story. Did any of them not deserve to die at Santana’s beautiful hands?

She let out a hum of immediate approval at the mention of the Anderson brothers. Brittany couldn’t recall any particular terrible thing they’d done recently to merit death, but she was sure there was something. Besides, she didn’t like the way they looked, which at the moment, seemed like more than good enough reason.

Quiet for a pause, Brittany studied her own fingers stroking Santana’s skin. She’d remembered something - a mere flash of a memory, but it was enough to make her feel sober for half a second.

She dropped her head to Santana’s shoulder, hiding her face in the crook of her neck. She smelled distinctly of Santana and it was comforting. Brittany lowered her voice to little more than a mumble. “After them…can we kill Puck, too?”

Puck was Santana’s friend – it was a risk suggesting him. Brittany had never told Santana what had happened when she’d been kept in Puck’s rooms during their forced separation. At the time, it had seemed like her fault – she’d been the one who’d failed to eat a single bite and prompted his frustration.

But that didn’t seem right anymore. Santana was the one who had told him not to touch Brittany, and he was the one who had broken that promise.

So maybe he did deserve to die.

“When I had to…stay with him,” Brittany struggled to keep her voice above an inaudible mumble, not wanting to have to repeat this. “He didn’t…” She clutched Santana little more tightly, all of a sudden feeling a little more unbalanced. “He didn’t listen to you,” she finished quietly, eyes closed and finding security in Santana’s full body grip.

But it had been long ago, and he wasn’t here right now, and soon he’d be at Santana’s mercy.

Brittany’s strength grew and she opened her eyes, taking a shaky but determined breath. “I don’t want him to be a Master anymore.”

Puck?

To be honest, Santana hadn’t expected Brittany to name anyone. With the exception of the times the Caretaker had ripped Brittany from Santana’s possession, there had been relatively few notable experiences with any other Masters.

Puck was the only one, but he hadn’t done anything except be incredibly inept at providing for her slave. Santana had approached him the moment Brittany was back with her and demanded a play-by-play account of everything that had happened, but it had all been surprisingly unremarkable. Brittany had refused to eat and Puck had left her alone.

Puck had left her alone.

Puck had left her alone, hadn’t he?

He didn’t listen to you.

Puck hadn’t left her alone.

The realization hit Santana like a freight train, and her head was literally spinning thanks to the drugs running through her system. Puck had touched Brittany. Puck had touched her things – the one thing she had explicitly forbidden him from putting his hands on. Her special thing.

“You should have told me,” she reprimanded immediately, frowning unhappily but keeping Brittany close. It wasn’t Brittany who had disobeyed her, but Puck. The closest thing she had to a friend and he had royally screwed her over by screwing Brittany.

This was why she didn’t like to have friends.

If he thought for a moment that his history with her was going to save him any pain, then he was sorely mistaken. If anything, Santana was only more determined to see him punished.

She might kill him. He deserved it, but it didn’t seem enough. Their situation with the Caretaker was a little more delicate and they had to kill him, no matter how long Santana might want to keep him around to make him suffer. She wouldn’t have his power until he was truly dead, but Puck…

Puck was someone Santana could keep around to make an example of.

“You should have told me…but I’m glad you’ve told me now.” Santana cupped Brittany’s cheeks and kissed her earnestly, wanting to reclaim her position over her slave and take her back. “I’m going to strip him down of everything. I’ll lock him up. I’ll take away his slaves, his title, his wealth, and then he can be a training slave for the new Masters we bring in. They’ll need someone to practice on.” She looked angry, but it wasn’t at Brittany, but for her. Hadn’t Santana made it clear that Brittany was hers and hers alone? It was one thing for the Caretaker to snatch her away, but another Master was just insulting.

“And then we can kill him.”

Santana clutched Brittany’s upper arms and slid off the counter, squeezing impossibly close to her as she stood on her feet. “I promise.”

Bad Things Happen

#you know that';s one of the things I've had planned in my head for a long while #Santana finally confronting Puck #and I know exactly how it's gonna play out and quite honestly Santana is chilling #she really has no time for mercy #para #bad things happen

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

brittanybound :

I wish I could fit you inside my shoe.

Brittany grinned and swung her arms back at Santana immediately, only to miss her hands by several feet. Oops. She clumsily pulled herself into an upright position and eventually managed to meet both of Santana’s hands with her own – so soft and warm. So, so soft and so, so warm. (Santana had the best hands in the universe, she’d always known it, and here was tangible proof.) Brittany sighed at the sensation, squeezing Santana’s magical hands for support as she was finally pulled upright. “Only if you fit inside, too,” she added seriously, though she was utterly relaxed.

More than that. She was the meaning behind the concept behind the idea of relaxation. She was relaxation.

Wait, no. Now, wrapped up like a Brittany burrito in Santana’s arms and legs,now she was relaxed. Maybe she’d transcended relaxation, though. What came after relaxed?

Dead?

Like the Caretaker, soon.

Brittany giggled at the thought, and at the rare purity and freedom of Santana’s laugh – and cuteness of her nose. “Scoop, scoop,” she emphasized the second word with a very purposeful boop to Santana’s nose in return, letting out a quiet laugh at the feel of it. Santana had the best nose, too. “But I don’t want anyone else’s love. Even if anyone else here had any, and they don’t, because this place is a litterbox, I wouldn’t want it. Just yours.” She wrinkled her nose playfully at Santana. “Just you and your shoe.”

She fell quiet as Santana did, content to watch her and her beautiful face. Maybe she wasn’t glowing like the sprinkles had, but she was glowing in Brittany’s heart, and that was what mattered.

She was just so pretty! And warm.

And unhappy?

I don’t want that smile. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be Caretaker.

What?

Brittany frowned, leaning in and nuzzling Santana’s hair in comfort. She didn’t like to see Santana upset, even mildly, and especially when she didn’t understand – which was weird too, since she felt like she understood so muchright now, so why didn’t she understand what Santana meant now?

Oh.

Because they were high as fucking kites.

Brittany smiled to herself. Genius, she’d done it again. But first things first. “You have me,” she reminded Santana quietly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Forever. No matter what. ‘Cause even if they took me away from you, you’d still have me.” She gentle nudged one of Santana’s hands over her chest, right over where she was about 57% sure her heart was. She curled her fingers over Santana’s smaller hand (so soft and warm), pressing it down until she hoped she could feel her heartbeat, and kissed her neck. “But when you’re the Caretaker, then no one at all can take me away from you, ever.” Santana’s neck was so nice to kiss. Wow. “And don’t worry about the smiles, Mistress,” she whispered. “You can bring your own, and I’ll keep them with me for safekeeping.” She paused, thinking deeply until her smile widened with yet another stroke of genius.

“In the shoe.”

She kissed up her jaw and found her lips. There had been a time when she’d been nervous about being the one to initiate kisses with Santana, but it was long past; Santana loved her sweet puppy kisses, Brittany was infinitely secure in that knowledge. She kissed Santana slowly, lazily for long moments. It was so nice, just…so nice. It felt even more amazing than usual, if that was possible…did Santana’s lips always make her feel so tingly and magical and warm?

Brittany hummed into the kiss, leaning further and further into Santana’s tight grip around her body before she suddenly broke away with a breathless laugh. A mischievous smile lit up her face, and she kept her conspiratorial tone low and private, just between the two of them.

“This is so fun…we should do murder more.”

Nobody taking Brittany away from her sounded like the best idea to ever exist. Whoever had come up with the plan to kill and replace the Caretaker had been a genius.

Oh, right. That was Santana. Go figure, she was a genius. She wasn’t too surprised, but she’d forgotten her own brilliance for a moment.

It probably had something to do with Brittany holding her hand to her chest and the way she was kissing up her neck. She was so talented, even with her kisses, but that was because Santana made sure she got in plenty of practise. If Brittany was this good now, imagine what her kisses would be like in a year, or two years—no, five years.

Wow.

Santana was looking forward to that.

“You’re so pretty,” she sighed happily, having been put at ease fairly quickly thanks to Brittany’s timely intervention. Honestly, her kisses were made out of magic, or fairy dust, or sprinkles. “I’m going to keep you forever.” She deserved pretty things, and Brittany was the prettiest. Nobody else was getting their grubby hands on this one.

But Santana was thoroughly distracted from forming any more (in-) coherent thoughts when Brittany kissed her. She smiled widely and cradled her legs snugly around Brittany’s body, still feeling the steady thud of her heart under her fingertips. Before Brittany, nobody had kissed Santana before. Puck had tried once, but Santana had swiftly responded to him leaning in to her with a fist to his face, and he hadn’t made an attempt ever since. There had always been a notable lack of female Masters on the island, at least when it came to ones Santana didn’t want to throttle on sight, and with slaves it had always been Santana initiating contact.

Santana loved her kisses from Brittany, and she let her know just how much by allowing Brittany dictate just how fast they went. For once, she was happy to follow her lead.

“It is fun,” she agreed readily. If this was what murder was like all the time, then Santana didn’t have a problem with more. “Who would you like to murder next?” The sweet tone she used was a stark contrast to her violent words, but Santana didn’t seem to notice. “It’ll be easy once I’m in charge, we can murder anyone we like. One of the Masters?” She thought on it a moment and then nodded, as if already anticipating Brittany’s answer. “Shall we murder the Anderson brothers? I agree, we should. I mean, I was going to lock them up and strip them down to slaves anyway, but murder works too.”

Bad Things Happen

#and now they're going on a murder spree #how romantic #para #bad things happen

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

brittanybound :

Brittany ducked, narrowly missing a small bottle that exploded into a spice bomb as soon as it hit the kitchen floor. “Whoa,” she breathed, glancing at the richly colored powder settling onto the floor. It was…twinkling.

Twinkling?

Wide eyed, she scanned the other piles on the floor — and yes, all the spices and powders now scattered all over the kitchen were glinting with that same mystical light. “Whoa,” she repeated, reaching to the counter with reverent touch. A small dusting on the tip of her fingers confirmed it. These were magic ingredients, meant for something very special. Something very, very special.

If only she could figure out what it was.

The fruit bowl caught her attention. Brittany reached out to pick up a vibrantly glowing orange, licking it just to be sure — it even tasted like magic. Her awed expression said everything…and she was sure the orange was listening. Probably. Maybe. She was pretty sure.

“Can I have —“

Oh my god.

Brittany whirled around and rushed the few steps to Santana like her life depended on it.

And immediately broke into giggles. How had it taken them this long to realize they had magic sprinkles?

“That’s so cool,” she whispered, still giggling — and then, why was Santana taking them away? Brittany’s slightly glassy eyes followed the handful of glinting color to her chest, mesmerized by the curious, beautiful glow of the colors against Santana’s bare skin. They were so pretty. The colors on her skin were so pretty, and Santana’s chest was so pretty, and everything was —

“So pretty,” Brittany watched happily, utterly lost to the spectacle of light and skin. She’d never seen anything more mesmerizing or fascinating, the twinkling spectrum of color against skin growing more and more entrancing by the moment…

Shoe?

Brittany blinked. Santana’s leg was waving in her face, the show clearly being offered up. “Okay,” she grinned lazily, not questioning. Santana was pretty cool — it followed that everything she did was probably pretty cool and an awesome idea too. She pulled the shoe off and sat down with unbalanced movements, her legs spread wide and flat on the floor. The shoe was first, then Brittany began searching around and picking up all manner of items that had been evacuated from the shelves.

“If we put lots of other stuff in here too, it’ll be harder for them to find the sprinkling sparkles,” she reasoned out loud, content to get to work in filling Santana’s shoe with as many spices as she could. “We should add some sneezes too,” she dropped in a few cashews, “and a clock,” she sprinkled in the contents of a glass bottle labeled ‘thyme’, “and…”

Brittany thought for a moment, then smiled dopily up at Santana. “And…love.”

She leaned down and gave the shoe a soft, careful peck of a kiss. Looking up with a shining smile, she offered the already half-full shoe to Santana, now that it was finally suitable for her to add the glowing sprinkles. “That’s the best ingredient of all, right?”

Brittany was so smart.

“You’re so smart,” she sighed, looking down with adoration as Brittany tipped ingredients into her shoe. She bet her father had never had a slave nearly half as clever as Brittany, or any other Master on the island for that matter. Brittany was special.

And Santana got to have her all to herself.

She beamed down to Brittany and took the offered shoe, giving it a customary look over to ensure that it was indeed ready for the sprinkles. “Love is very important,” she stressed, and started tipping the sprinkles into the shoe with care. If even one was lost, then…well, Santana wasn’t sure what might happen, but it was most definitely, absolutely, totally going to be terrible.

“It’s like a secret weapon.” Santana blew the remaining sprinkles still sticking to her palm and sent them into the shoe. “The Caretaker doesn’t have it. Love, that is, not the sprinkles…but he doesn’t have those, either.” No, Brittany and Santana had all of that. Wait, love or sprinkles? Santana was getting confused between the two.

Whatever. They had both and the Caretaker had none, and that was what was important.

Santana held the shoe up high with as much reverence as she could muster. “It is done,” she whispered, letting Brittany look before swinging open a drawer below her legs and thrusting the shoe inside. She had to throw out some of the cutlery to make room, and it was a bit of a squeeze, but after a few forceful slams of the drawer the sprinkles were finally somewhere safe.

She wanted to keep Brittany safe, too.

“I wish I could fit you inside my shoe.” She bent over and let her arms hang down, swinging them around for Brittany to catch and pouting when she didn’t immediately do so. “It’d be a nice shoe. It’d have lots of sprinkles and sneezes and clocks and love.” Santana continued to dangle her arms down until she caught Brittany’s hands, and she tugged her up sluggishly with a victorious smile. Step forty-seven complete.

What had been the first forty-six steps? Santana didn’t know, but she did know that they had all led to her pulling Brittany up so she could wrap around her like a limpet.

And that’s exactly what she did. Her arms and legs wrapped around Brittany tightly and Santana had no intention of letting go. “Lots of love. There’s not a lot of love on the island, but you’d get every bit of it. I’d scoop it up and put it in the shoe with you.” She lifted her head to send Brittany a bright smile. “Just like I scooped up you. Scoop, scoop!” Her nose bopped against Brittany’s and Santana laughed for no particular reason except because she felt like laughing. That was okay. She could laugh with Brittany.

She wasn’t going to be able to laugh once she was Caretaker. The Caretaker didn’t even smile, especially with slaves. Wait, that wasn’t true – Santana had seen him smile. He’d smiled when Santana had rented out her first slave. She’d seen him smile when she returned the slave in slightly less than new condition and proceeded to publically punish it for talking out of turn, and he smiled again when Santana had laid down the bloody whip and asked for something new.

He smiled a lot, actually. Santana used to beam whenever she saw it because the Caretaker was proud of her. Harder and more extreme punishments meant more smiles, and it hadn’t taken long for Santana to find that correlation and exploit it.

Queen of Punishment. Getting that title hadn’t been an accident.

But now the smile didn’t bring the same rewards it used to. Seeing that smile meant pain for Brittany, and that was simply unacceptable (at least, it was when Santana wasn’t the one administering it).

Would becoming the Caretaker mean having that smile? But that smile hurt her and it hurt Brittany.

Santana wasn’t so sure she liked that.

“I don’t want that smile,” she protested suddenly, and held onto Brittany even tighter. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to be Caretaker.” Santana pressed her face against Brittany’s collarbone and let her words drift up in a mumble. “I just want you.”

Bad Things Happen

#it's been so long!#I missed them!#I forgot how crazy they are #but I loved it #bad things happen #para

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

brittanybound:

Brittany followed Santana back easily, a thrilled smile growing as she fought the urge to just grab her Mistress and make out with her endlessly; it was hard to combat their growing excitement. The mood shifted slightly as in an instant, Brittany was pinned against the wall – but only slightly. It may have been due to the growing haze of carelessness lightening her mind, but Santana’s dark threats of torture only thrilled her further.

She listened with eager attention. “He’s going to regret the day he messed with you,” she breathed, determined. “With us.” Revenge from Santana was one thing, but there was no way he could ever be expecting revenge from a slave. It was utterly out of the realm of possibility, of imagination and yet, it was coming to him.

Brittany was really, really looking forward to the moment he realized what was happening.

Warmth fluttered low in her abdomen at Santana’s handsy attentions and promises. She wiggled at Santana’s lips – then oh, teeth – on her earlobe, sliding a hand to stroke at Santana’s ribs in want. “I wouldn’t ask for that,” she giggled in response, in that moment finding the concept just as amusing as Santana did. “Why would I want one? I like being yours.”

She watched in curious delight as Santana spun under her arm, raising her eyebrows slightly. “Like you,” she agreed all the same, despite Santana’s silliness in that moment. Strong and firm indeed.

Something occurred to her a moment later, the increasingly slow, easy drift of her thoughts causing a delayed reaction. “Hey, wait,” she protested with a grin, utterly lacking in anything resembling seriousness. “I can be strong and firm.” Holding a bicep up to helpfully show Santana, she curled her arm and flexed her muscles in demonstration. “See? Strong,” she then patted her abs, “and firm.” A playful light slipped into her expression as she looked back at Santana, smirking.

She slipped Santana’s top off from around her neck and laid it around Santana’s own neck instead, teasing as she pushed herself just inches off the wall. “And I don’t always have to be soft, you know,” she whispered against Santana’s neck, kissing a tantalizing path down to her collarbone. “If you let me, I won’t be, with him.” Brittany dragged her teeth, then tongue, lightly across the well defined jut of the bone. She paused, sucking softly at the skin there. “That’s what I want. I want to make him feel it.”

It was true. Despite the disaster that had resulted when Santana had taken her down to the punishment rooms in a traumatic attempt to accustom her to inflicting violence, Brittany was certain it would be different with the Caretaker. The freshly kidnapped slave hadn’t done anything to warrant the punishment Brittany had aided in administering (his screams of agony as Santana had stapled his tongue to his mouth had been particularly hard to forget), but this was the Caretaker. This was the man who had reduced her strong, confident Mistress to a broken, bloody mess on more than one occasion, and who had forced Santana to do the same to her. He’d forced Santana to give Brittany unwarranted Maintenance Punishments and forced their separation merely to prove a point – without Santana, Brittany had almost not survived her extended banishment to Puck’s rooms.

Slaves were not supposed to get angry. They weren’t supposed to want revenge. Most slaves stopped even dreaming of it, after a point.

But most slaves did not belong to Santana.

The darkness of Santana’s twisted affinity for inflicting pain and torture on others had terrified Brittany before, but not now. Not with this man. With this man, Brittany almost couldn’t wait to be given the chance to participate.

She shook herself out of her thoughts after a few lost moments, blinking and pulling back just enough to gaze at Santana. Yes. That was what she wanted, nothing else could even hope of competing with that single, fierce desire –

“I want chocolate,” she blurted abruptly, a loose grin chasing away any remnants of the darker thoughts that had tightened her expression just moments before. “I know I just had that brownie, but…” she snapped her teeth together a few playful times, demonstrating exactly what she had the urge to do. “I want to eat. I’m hungry.” She really was suddenly feeling a desire to snack on something from the kitchen, but then her eyes fell to Santana’s body. Chocolate could wait. “Shark time,” she mumbled slyly to no one in particular, before taking a few gentle nibbles along the ridge of Santana’s shoulder and sighing happily. “It’s shark time.”

Knowing that Brittany wanted this just as much as Santana did only bolstered her determination to see it through. It kept Santana from hesitating and second-guessing herself, because there was more than just her own neck on the line – if she failed at this, then Brittany would be falling with her. She could only hope that the Caretaker wouldn’t be as severe with his punishment on a slave as he would with a rebellious Mistress, but Santana highly doubted that would happen. The Caretaker was not known for being merciful.

Which was exactly why they weren’t going to screw this up. It was either kill the Caretaker or die trying, because Santana was not letting him get his hands on them again.

“I want that,” she whispered, her voice growing hoarse with the attention Brittany was giving her. It was unusual for Santana to be so pliant and open under someone else’s touch (more than unusual; it was unheard of), but Brittany wasn’t just anyone. “I want to see you hurt him. Bring him pain, baby.” It surprised Santana at just how exciting she found the prospect of Brittany when she could wield some power. It wasn’t power against Santana, and maybe that was the key.

Definitely something to investigate further once their business with the Caretaker was all tied up.

But until then…

…Chocolate?

Chocolate.

Chocolate sounded really, really good.

“Do you think sharks can eat chocolate?” she mused, her face schooled into a serious expression while Brittany nibbled along her shoulder. “Maybe fish-shaped chocolate. With sprinkles. Everything is better when it has sprinkles on it, that’s been proved with science. Science says we should have more sprinkles.” Santana eyed Brittany curiously and ran her gaze up and down her body. “We should sprinkle you. Yes.” Taking Brittany’s hand, Santana turned and marched them to the kitchen, shaking off the shirt still around her shoulders and letting it fall somewhere on the floor; she really didn’t care where.

Santana got to the kitchen and went straight for one of the cupboards, almost smacking her head when she swung it open. “Oops,” she giggled, clambering up onto the counter top so she could get a better look at the food inside. It certainly wasn’t graceful, but Santana managed it without crashing down to the floor.

“Sprinkles. Will pepper work? No, no, no…” she shook her head fiercely and went back to searching, dropping what she didn’t need down onto the floor and the counter next to her. Snacks and spices crashed down as Santana flung them aside, their lids popping off to spread their contents around the kitchen.

It had to be sprinkles, it just had to be. Santana couldn’t think of any food even half as colourful as sprinkles. “Look!” she called out, snatching up the small plastic container and spinning on the counter so she was sitting. She shook the sprinkles at Brittany, wiggling her body at the same time. “I knew it. I’m always right,” she boasted, flicking the cap open and shaking some to pile into the palm of her hand, singing as she poured them. “Sprinkleees…”

But something wasn’t right. “Oh my god,” she whispered, bringing her flat palm up to eye level and staring at it intently. “Wow.” Santana’s eyes were wide with wonder and she thrust her hand out for Brittany’s inspection, some of the sprinkles falling down onto the floor with the force of the motion.

“I didn’t know I had glowing sprinkles.” They were so pretty. Their colours danced in Santana’s palm and had her mesmerised, and she saw them glow brightly and light up Brittany’s face. Santana would bet that nobody else had sprinkles like she did. “We can’t eat them,” she decided, cupping them delicately and bringing them into her chest, hiding their light from anyone who might be spying on them. People would steal her glowing sprinkles. “We need to put them somewhere safe, Brittany. We need—oh! My shoe! I need a shoe.” Santana stuck her leg out and wiggled her foot impatiently, raising her eyebrows at Brittany to hurry up. “I need my shoe off. Come on.” If they didn’t hurry, someone else was going to get to her sprinkles.

Bad Things Happen

#I'm not sure what happened here #....it's very late and I'm sleepy #bad things happen

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

brittanybound:

For a few long moments, Brittany was filled the sort of pride only attainable from accomplishing goals of the highest meaning. The highest purpose. She’d known she’d succeeded in her goal of securing the deal with Wyatt, she’d been able to tell that much from before he’d even snapped back to reality – but the feeling swelled with Santana’s air of approval and finality. They’d succeeded, and now their plan could move on.

Their plan could move on, because of Brittany.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t felt pride before during her life with Santana. But there was a world of difference between being praised for passive behavior and achieving a crucial step in their joint survival/island domination plan through skilled, intent action of her own initiation.

Santana’s clear approval didn’t hurt, either.

Brittany moved back into the indicated space between Santana’s legs, easily settling into the comfort and protection of the position. Her surging sense of achievement had already dimmed somewhat, diluted by the sense of curiosity at the turn of events. For any other visit, Santana might already have shoved Wyatt’s brownies decisively back into his face, but it was too risky now.

(She tried to ignore the ache of disappointment as she reverted back into silence – observant, diligent silence, but silence all the same. Acting had been fun, and it had felt better than good to be able to help in such a real, crucial way…but she couldn’t expect to be able to do so again, at least not in the near future. It wasn’t her purpose – but that was it exactly, she wanted a purpose.)

Santana’s voice picked her out of her concentrated attempts to push down the nagging feeling. She was attentive immediately, only the slightest amount of surprise tinging her expression as she took the brownie from Santana. Inspecting it with no small amount of intrigue, Brittany checked back upwards for final confirmation that she was really meant to eat it – only to bite the corner of her lip with unrestrained affection as Santana bit into a brownie of her own.

She’d given Brittany her word, and Brittany had never known her to go back on it.

Her own first few bites were tentative, if curious. Years ago, under pressure at a high school party, she’d tried smoking the stuff. But the smoke had caused her to choke, the fumes made her a dizzy, and it hadn’t prompted any repeat experiences. Its presence was more than obvious in the brownie in her hand now, but the sweetness of the chocolate made it more than edible. Brittany made a quiet, thoughtful noise as she studied it, wondering if the effects of baking minimized the effects of the drug. Maybe it amplified them.

It really wasn’t too bad at all. Brittany looked up as she finished, noticing Santana had finished hers as well. How long did it take to kick in? She licked the remaining crumbs of chocolate off Santana’s fingers in affectionate duty, giving her a tiny shrug. “Not as good as your pancakes,” she concluded simply, getting to her feet as Santana did and enjoying the noise of offense from Wyatt behind her. He continued to protest their leaving even as they headed back towards the suite door (…slowly, stepping their way through the vast and relentless mess covering the floor), but they’d gotten what they’d come for – and more.

Getting high hadn’t quite been on their to-do list.

As soon as they stepped back out into the hallway, Brittany breathed in the comparatively fresh, sweet air in relief. She paused for moment, then turned to Santana with a giddy grin lighting her face. “We did it, Mistress. It worked, he –” But she broke off, the sight of a couple patrolling guards turning the corner towards them forcing her into silence. It was all too easy to be reminded that outside of their own locked rooms, the threat was everywhere. Her eyes fell to her feet and she stayed quiet over their thankfully short walk back to their suite – but as soon as they were safely inside the locked door again, Brittany’s smile was back, her cheeks flushed pink with success.

“That was amazing…he’s kind of an asshole, like you said, but it worked!” Brittany bit her lip in excitement, the rush from her own performance still flowing heavily through her system. She tugged at the front of Santana’s top, eager to celebrate. It was hard to fight the lingering thrill from the part she’d gotten to play, and Brittany leaned in to nuzzle Santana’s neck with kisses, whispering playfully in her ear, “We’re totally gonna kill a man.”

…yes, it was hard to fight the lingering thrill. But why should she? They’d achieved a crucial step in their plan, everything had gone well – and judging from the seriousness in which Wyatt most likely concocted his baked goods, they were about to about undoubtedly feel very good for another reason entirely.

Santana led Brittany back to their rooms without another word. Wyatt would come through for them; he never went back on his word with Santana, especially because he knew his sister would make his life hell if he ever did. Even better, Santana knew he wouldn’t ask questions. She would lie to him if she had to, Santana didn’t have a problem with that, but everything would run a lot smoother if everyone just played their part and did what they were told.

Like Brittany.

Beautiful Brittany, who had played her part exquisitely. Santana couldn’t have asked for a better performance. She hadn’t expected anything like that, but she should have – Santana shouldn’t continue to underestimate her when Brittany had already proved time and time again that she could be just as resourceful and cunning as her mistress.

(And if Santana were truly honest, it had been an incredible turn on to see Brittany work like that. She would have had Brittany back then had it not been quite so filthy in his suite, Wyatt be damned.)

A smile cracked through Santana’s hard exterior once they were safely behind the doors to their own room; seeing Brittany so bright and happy had a knock-on effect on her own excitement. They were really doing this. “It worked,” she repeated Brittany’s words, not minding in the slightest that Brittany had decided to bring them so close together. “You made it work,” she added on, wanting to praise the good work Brittany had done for them back there. Santana didn’t doubt that she would have convinced Wyatt by herself eventually, but there was a rush at seeing Brittany do it so effortlessly.

Santana liked having the best of the best, and Brittany had gone and proved (again) that she was. She might not be able to brag about it to the other Masters, but Santana knew. She knew.

Gripping her own top in her hands, Santana pulled it up over her head and shook her hair free, laughing Brittany’s enthusiasm. “Not just a man,” she insisted, using the shirt in her hands to loop around Brittany’s neck and direct her down into a long kiss. She walked back, bringing Brittany with her, and whispered with her voice rough against Brittany’s lips, “We’re totally gonna kill the man.”

Santana was no longer scared by that thought. It was the circle of life. The Caretaker’s predecessor had died under mysterious circumstances (they all knew who had been responsible, her father had explained), and so Santana was just returning the favour.

“But before we kill him, we’re gonna hurt him.” Santana’s expression had turned dark, predatory, and she continued walking back until she felt the wall behind her, quickly turning to pin Brittany there instead. “We’re going to make him scream. And bleed…” Oh, she was going to make him bleed. She was going to prove how even the high and mighty Caretaker was just a mortal man. “And then we’re going to make him cry.” Santana didn’t just want to kill him, she wanted him humiliated, even if it was for their eyes only.

She would have to thank him for giving her the means to bring this all about. The Caretaker had taught her, trained her, and encouraged Santana to be the perfect embodiment of a Mistress on the Island. There was nothing left for him to teach her, and Santana should have realised that he had outgrown his usefulness long ago. She didn’t need him anymore.

“And anything else you want to do, Britt-Britt,” she purred, letting greedy hands roam over Brittany’s body and feeling lighter than she had done in years. “I’m going to give you anything you want.” Santana had already wormed her hands beneath the clothes Brittany had worn for their little outing. She drew blunt nails down a firm abdomen that was growing stronger every day, laughing as she leaned in to suck slowly at Brittany’s earlobe. “Except asking me for a slave,” she bit down playfully, giggling at the prospect. “Because you’re mine and that would be silly. Can you imagine?” The idea seemed ludicrous to Santana and her increasingly foggy mind. “Mistress Brittany. You’d be so soft. You’ve gotta be strong and firm,” she grinned brightly, taking one of Brittany’s hands in her own and twirling under her arm, gesturing to herself with an outlandish curtsey. “Like me!”

Bad Things Happen

#Root!Britt and Shaw!San have killed and manipulated and tortured people on multiple occassions #and yet these two are still infinitely more disturbed #at least San 1.0 is #Britt 1.0 is clinging on #bad things happen #para

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

For a long moment, Santana forgot all about the reason she was here.

Her attention was fixed on Brittany and being drawn under the same spell as her brother. Slaves were supposed to be passive and silent, but this was a seduction. Santana could already feel her body reacting to Brittany – her heat rising, cheeks flushed, her eyes dark and intense on the woman kneeling by Wyatt’s feet. What Santana really wanted was to push Brittany down onto the floor and feel every inch of her, to have every inch of her, and she knew Brittany would be willing to give it.

(She was reminded of music and slick skin; of Brittany dancing in front of her, for her, and giving Santana the most enticing view she’d ever seen.)

Santana wove her fingers through Wyatt’s hair and tugged at his curls, close to being painful. Her eyes still hadn’t left Brittany’s (how could she look away?) and she breathed into his ear. “She’s good, isn’t she?” Better than good. Santana had had good slaves before, but Brittany was a goddamn masterpiece.

His laughter brought a satisfied smile to Santana’s lips, and she tightened the fingers she had wrapped in his hair before letting go completely, allowing him to lean forward. Brittany had done so well. They had their drugs, Wyatt would keep quiet, and all with very little effort on Santana’s part. She looked down at Brittany, her eyes lighting up with delight at her performance, and gave the girl the slightest of nods.

There would be a reward for that later. A big reward.

Santana was ready to pack up and leave when Wyatt went and spoke again. Her smile slipped and she walked around the chair to meet Brittany, running an affectionate hand through the kneeling slave’s blonde hair while he added on his conditions. It was no secret what Santana thought about Wyatt’s habit, and she sent a sneer down at the brownies he was now holding out.

“You want her to eat those,” she repeated, barely concealing her irritation at his games. No, why bother concealing it? Santana bared her teeth and stalked back to her seat, holding out a hand so Brittany would join her. She parted her legs to let Brittany crawl between them, holding her in the protective cradle and letting her hands roam over the tops of Brittany’s shoulders and back, her touch soft despite the hard, disapproving glare she was sending to Wyatt.

For his part, Wyatt just carried on grinning, clearly amused with Santana’s reaction. “What, your pet doesn’t like chocolate?” he asked, snorting loudly when Santana’s look became even icier. It wasn’t the cocoa Santana was concerned about.

“What’s in it?” she demanded shortly, keeping her own temper at bay by running her fingertips along Brittany’s skin. One hand slipped down beneath Brittany’s top so her palm could rest against her bare back. “And don’t tell me chocolate,” she added scathingly, “What else is in it?”

Wyatt lay back in his chair and looked infinitely pleased with the way their conversation was going. “Just a little pot, sis,” he remarked offhandedly, pushing the tin toward them again with a foot. “You scared of some grass? It’s green - that makes it one of your five a day.” Santana snatched up the tin and peered inside, considering her options. They could walk out right now and Santana was still fairly sure that Wyatt would come through for them, and Santana normally wouldn’t hesitate in telling him exactly where he could stick his baking, but…

This wasn’t normal. If Wyatt changed his mind just because Santana had denied him his ‘fun’, then they were back to square one. There wasn’t anybody else Santana trusted to get them the drugs they needed.

“Brittany.” Santana leaned over her and picked up the tin, ignoring Wyatt’s look of utter glee when she angled it down to Brittany. She pulled her hand out of Brittany’s shirt and poked around in the mess of sticky chocolate until she had her fingers around a medium sized brownie, offering it to her. “We’ll let Wyatt have his fun. Eat this, and then we can leave for our rooms and our own brand of fun.”

Wyatt looked ready to interrupt, but Santana shut him up with a look. “You said she had to eat it. You didn’t say anything about staying for the show. And anyway…” Santana set the tin down and plucked up a second brownie, eyeing it distastefully. She had promised Brittany that they were in this together, and Santana had meant every word.

“I’m about to make the deal a whole lot sweeter for you,” she continued, meeting his eyes and bringing the snack to her own mouth. She took a determined bite from the corner and swallowed down the sickly sweet mouthful, aware of Wyatt’s wide and overjoyed eyes watching them.

He was such an ass.

Bad Things Happen

#way way way overdue!#sorry!#para #bad things happen

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Note

Is there an easy way to read your stories? The formatting messes up on my IPad and laptop. Thanks so much!

Hey, there. Sorry if this is an old message, I’ve been thoroughly distracted with another RP we have going on and our muse has been going crazy.

Is it the theme you’re having a problem with? I’ve been thinking about changing it anyway, so if that’s the case then I can switch it over if it’s being a pain, no problem.

Otherwise, I’m not really sure how else you can read them. I’m sorry about that!

0 notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

Compared to the mute and almost comatose Brittany that so often accompanied Santana when they went anywhere around the imposing castle, seeing the slave now forcefully push Wyatt away from her (hard enough to send him sprawling back in his chair, she noted) was a surprise. A good surprise. The look on Wyatt’s face was enough to coax laughter from Santana, loud and easy and unchecked, but it was knowing who put the look there that had her positively beaming with a combination of pride and amusement.

Santana had always enjoyed seeing her things, especially Brittany, misbehave for other Masters. She would swell with smug satisfaction that she would communicate with a delicate curve of her eyebrow and a subtle twitch of her lips. She liked besting other people, and there really was no better way of doing so than in proving her authority without so much as lifting a finger. Santana was all for the corporal and violent displays of her power, but there was something so tidy and efficient about walking into a room and not having to do a damn thing to get attention she deserved.

“I did warn you.” Santana looked entirely unapologetic about the entire exchange. In fact, she opened an arm out to Brittany to draw her in closer to her own body, intending to reward her behaviour with the intimacy Brittany seemed to crave.

Both she and Wyatt had a habit of poking something that piqued their curiosity just to see what would happen, consequences be damned, but that had never stopped them before. “You’re an idiot. Brittany doesn’t have patience for idiots, and neither do I. Why would I want to discourage common sense?” Rather than looking offended, Wyatt seemed to be looking at Brittany in a new light. He leaned forward, his legs now safely away from Brittany’s reach, and studied her without a trace of reservation.

“What’s so special about this one?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. “I don’t remember the last time you let one sit on the couch with you. Well, besides Mercedes, but she’s always been an exception. But this one…” Wyatt wagged a finger at her with a tuneful hum, looking much like he knew more about the situation than Santana had divulged to him. Santana hated that look. “You like this one, Tana.” He was hitting entirely too close for comfort now, and he knew as much from the look on his sister’s face. Santana’s expression was murderous; a look that would have sent Masters and slaves alike into fits of hysteria, but Wyatt’s eyes betrayed nothing but unadulterated glee.

He rummaged around on the table and picked up a rounded tin while Santana continued to throw him withering looks in the hopes that he might curl up in a sudden onset of intense pain. Prying open the lid, Wyatt set it back on the table and nudged the tin toward Brittany with a wide smile. “Brownie? I made them myself. They pack a real kick to them.” He shook the tin enticingly, the curly mop of hair on his head bouncing with the motion. “It’s why you’re here, after all.”

Santana wrinkled her nose at the baked goods and slipped her arm from around Brittany to rest high on her thigh with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t eat those,” she instructed Brittany with clipped words, barely able to hide the distaste for her brother’s dependence on his highs. He could do so much more than hiding out in his room and shooting up on whatever he could smuggle into the island.

There was no point in lecturing him now, especially when his drug habit happened to provide Santana the perfect way to get her hands on what they needed. “You can put them away. We didn’t come here to sample the wares.” If Wyatt was unhappy about the rejection, he didn’t show it. He left the brownies in their tin and pushed them toward Brittany with another quick grin before leaning back with his hands behind his head. He didn’t say anything, but was clearly waiting for Santana to continue.

“Like I said, I need you to do something for me. Or rather, I need you to get something.” Santana had no plans to reveal everything to Wyatt, not who she was after, but he was smart; once she told him what she wanted, he would know she was up to something. “A barbiturate. Something strong enough to render a grown man unconscious, something quick,” she spoke slowly, carefully, and spared the tinned goods a quick glance. “Something stronger than your special brand of brownies, I think,” she added with a fleeting smile.

There was nobody on the island who knew drugs and their effects quite like Wyatt. He was something of an undisclosed chemist to anybody looking for certain substances, but Santana knew that her request would be more than a little odd; though, she supposed that wasn’t exactly difficult to do when the majority of his customers were more than likely Masters looking to keep hard for extended periods of time. Santana didn’t have that problem.

But she did have a problem, one that was much significantly bigger than any erectile dysfunction they had going on, and she had every intention to take care of him. “A shot of amphetamine, too. I’m going to want him awake for this.” Santana’s fingers ran over Brittany’s leg. It was a comfort to know Brittany was right there, and Santana liked to keep in contact with her as often as she could. “We are going to want him awake. I don’t think we’ll have that same level of satisfaction if we kill him in his sleep,” she cocked an eyebrow and watched as Wyatt pursed his lips, clearly taking every piece of information she had given him and running it through his mind. Santana knew he was making a mental list of probable victims in his head and building a checklist against them. Even with everything the Caretaker had done to them, Santana knew the chances of Wyatt guessing correctly were low – nobody ever took action against the Caretaker.

“You said anything for me. This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? I’d really rather keep this on a need to know basis, and honestly, no-one needs to know. No-one but family.” There it was – the F word. Santana only pulled it out when she really wanted Wyatt’s favour, and now was as good a time as any to be using that particular card.

It didn’t appear to have the level of sway Santana was aiming for. Wyatt hadn’t moved, but his voice was suddenly dry and malevolent when he spoke up, though there was no hint of contempt for his sister there. Despite Santana’s claims, he was far from the idiot he played, and there was a subtle shift where Wyatt seemed to shake off that mask and reveal his Lopez colours beneath. Dark, ruthless colours. “That one might cost you a little more than you were hoping, sis.”

Santana stood up from her seat, her hand lingering on Brittany’s leg, and walked around the table to stand behind Wyatt. He had grown more sombre with the direction of their conversation, more focused, but he was by no means alarmed by Santana’s revelation. What was a little talk of murder between siblings on an island like this?

“Come on, Wyatt,” she insisted, knowing better than to take his answer as a no. Santana draped herself over the back of his chair and let her arms hang down across his chest. Her eyes met Brittany’s over his shoulder as she spoke low in his ear. “I’m your baby sister. I don’t ask for much.” Wyatt scoffed at that and Santana could only imagine the look on his face, but she pressed on regardless. “Give me what I want and I’ll give you something you want. That sounds like a fair trade. Don’t you think, Britt?” She cocked her head expectantly and waited for Brittany to agree with her, smiling in encouragement.

“There must be something. Everybody wants something. A night with a claimed slave? I know you like playing with toys that aren’t yours. A night with a Master?” Santana’s smile grew when his breathing hitched almost imperceptibly under her palms, her nails digging in a fraction when she found her hook. There is was. “You should ask Brittany. I have ways to be incredibly persuasive, but it all depends on what you can give me.”

Bad Things Happen

#bad things happen #para

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

Bad Things Happen

For weeks it felt like all Santana had been doing was planning; planning and then talking about those plans with Brittany, and then planning some more, a loop that went on and on. Santana was meticulous and she knew the importance of this being absolutely perfect, but there had some a point where even she had to concede to overthinking.

If they hadn’t come up with anything else by now, then they never would. It was now or never, and too much was riding on this for Santana to lose courage and not act; there was more than just her own future to consider now.

“Don’t be nervous. Wyatt may be a pain, but he won’t hurt you,” she murmured to the girl beside her as she knocked on the door, knowing they had gone over this a dozen times. Wyatt wouldn’t touch Brittany, and not just because of his sister’s notorious jealousy and reputation, but because he had a little more respect for other people’s possessions than some of the other Masters. Santana couldn’t say the same for all the Masters of the island, and her lip curled slightly as she remembered the mess she had been dragged into over the issue of ownership of one measly slave.

Honestly, if a slave’s Master was even up for debate, then it was clear that none of them deserved the title at all.

Not that Santana was ever worried of that being a concern for her. Brittany was unequivocally hers, and it wasn’t the leash in her hand or the collar round Brittany’s neck that proved it, though all that undeniably helped. It was her loyalty and unbelievable devotion, and Santana couldn’t be prouder.

She was, however, impatient, and Santana knocked on the door again. If a simple knock could have attitude, then Santana was giving it all she had. She loved her brother, as well as Santana could anyway, but he was lazy and unmotivated.

Her hand was raised and ready to knock again, or rather pound at the door, when Wyatt finally deigned to open it up. His hair was devilish and sticking up in random directions, and it was clear from his dazed eyes and bare torso that her arrival had woken him up. “It’s three in the afternoon,” Santana complained, taking his open door as an invitation and stepping inside without any more preamble, drawing Brittany along with her. “And don’t blame it on jet lag. I know for a fact that you’ve been back for at least a week now.”

“Hello to you, too.” Wyatt rubbed at his tired eyes and closed the door behind them while Santana inspected his suite. Clothes were scattered across the floor and furniture, plates were stacked high, and the blinds were closed to keep out the afternoon sun. It was stale and cluttered and the very opposite to Santana’s own immaculate rooms.

Her nose crinkled at the mess and Santana manoeuvred her way through the chaos to take a seat on the couch, flicking off a desolate sock with a noise of disgust. This was why she avoided visiting her brother and so often insisted that they catch up elsewhere. “We live on an island with slaves everywhere,” she griped, removing the compulsory leash from Brittany’s collar. Her hands brushed along Brittany’s neck and Santana beckoned her closer, letting Brittany decide on where she felt most comfortable. She knew how her slave was still so jumpy around other Masters, even when she was by Santana’s side. “Get a few of them in here to clean this place up already.”

To his credit, Wyatt ignored his sisters grumbling and threw himself down on the chair opposite, his arms and legs held out at odd angles. “I like it like this.” His eyes were closed as he lounged out over the plush chair. It only took a quick glance down to the table between them for Santana to assess exactly what her brother had been up to for the past week. The surface was littered with what remained of several joints, and Santana’s gaze was drawn to the tip of a needle peeking from beneath a magazine.

Yes. Wyatt would have what they needed.

“And what’s this?” Santana looked up again. This time Wyatt’s eyes were open and looking at Brittany, his interest apparently piqued. “Is this the one causing you so much trouble, Tana?” He stretched out a leg, slouching down low in his chair to do so, and wiggled his foot around in an effort to nudge Brittany.

“Does it do much?” His foot continued to prod Brittany and Santana scowled over at him, her fingers itching to smack his leg away. “Or is it just a pretty face for you to fuck?”

“Her name is Brittany. She bites, so I suggest you stop waving your toes in her face.” This time Santana did slap his foot, smirking when he retracted it quickly with a small yelp, though he was smiling over to her. She knew he’d be curious – Santana rarely held an interest in any slave for more than a month, and Brittany had been with her for well over that by now. That alone would have been enough to draw Wyatt’s attention, but now his sister was in his rooms with Brittany in tow.

Wyatt Lopez may have been lazy and far too relaxed for his own good, but he was smart and observant. All of them knew that Santana hadn’t come down to his suite for a round of conversation.

Santana leaned forward from her seat and picked up the needle gingerly, holding the end between forefinger and thumb. If anyone could get what they needed without arousing suspicion or asking questions, it was Wyatt. “I’m going to need you to do something for me.” She let the needle swing from her fingers and drop back to the table, wiping her hand surreptitiously against her own jacket.

“Something that needs to stay between us.”

#bad things happen #finally!!!#sorry for the wait!#para

27 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

For someone who had always craved control, the thought of having the entire Island under her control was an enticing one. Santana had never considered taking power for herself before, but it had always been something of a fantasy to daydream over during mindless council meetings. So many mistakes were made on the Island and all because the Masters thought with their cocks instead of their brains, but Santana could put a stop to that. No, she would put a stop to that.

“I really think this is going to work. I know it.” Santana could still remember when the Caretaker first took the position. There had been rumours, whispers really, that he’d murdered his predecessor to gain the seat of power, and really, was there a better way for his reign to end than for it to come full circle like this? If he could do it, then so could Santana – except she wasn’t going to make a secret of it. Everybody was going to know what she’d done to the most powerful man on the Island.

What they’d done. They were a team now, and they both deserved to get their hands on him.

Santana pressed another long kiss to Brittany’s mouth, savouring in the freedom being outside gave them, and tugged at her bottom lip with a pleased smile. This was going to be the best thing to happen to them.

The skin beneath Santana’s hands was hot to the touch, and it was when Santana ran her eyes over Brittany’s face, seeing the pink spots on her cheeks, that she decided to reach for the sun lotion again. “Stay still,” she ordered, though a little unnecessarily considering how relaxed they already were.

She poured a liberal amount of cream into her hands and spread it across Brittany’s forehead and down her nose with the tips of her fingers, taking her time in mapping out her face. “We don’t need a repeat of last time. The only reason I want to see your skin sore and red is because of me and my hands.” Her fingers rubbed the lotion into Brittany’s skin, gently drawing away pieces of flyaway hair that were getting stuck to sticky skin before moving down her neck with the same sort of care, swooping down over the swell of her breasts. “I’m still going to take care of you like this when I’m Caretaker, baby. I know I’ll have lots of slaves and Masters under my care,” she flicked her eyes up from where they’d been watching her own hands slather cream onto Brittany’s skin, following her curves. “But you’re special. You’re always going to be special.”

Darling, I'm a Nightmare

#dian

13 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

A needle.

It wasn’t something she had considered. Torture, maiming, cutting into his skin a hundred different ways; that was where Santana’s mind had taken her. To be frank, she hadn’t minded the ride at all, and she delighted in imagining tearing the Caretaker down bit by violent bit.

Which was why she hadn’t stopped to contemplate a plan so…clean. Santana had wanted something theatrical and bloody, something that would sate the ravenous monster that had grown and matured under the Caretaker’s tutelage. He had trained her well, and Santana was all too eager to show him just what a bad idea that had been.

“I like that idea.” It was the best they’d had by far. Santana pressed a firm kiss to Brittany’s lips in reward and smiled in approval. The idea of having the Caretaker strapped to his oh-so-powerful chair in his boots and gloves, unable to move while Santana showed him exactly what she thought of his interference with her slave…

Santana was giddy thinking about it.

“So smart,” she praised, widening her smile and dragging her nails in a slow, gentle line across the bottom of Brittany’s back. “And I know exactly where we have to go to get what we need.” He was one of the few on the Island who Santana might ever consider trusting (besides Brittany), and if there was a drug to be had, then Wyatt would be the one to have it.

“We’ll drug him…not to kill him, not at first. Just enough to subdue him. I want him to feel everything.” Santana pulled Brittany in closer and found her mouth again in a possessive kiss. “He won’t touch my things again. Nobody will. Not the Caretaker, not Puck, not anyone.” She drew back to look up at Brittany and touched her cheek. "Not ever."

Darling, I'm a Nightmare

#dian

13 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

It was the one thing Santana hadn’t stopped thinking about for days on end.

How to kill the Caretaker.

Her mind would conjure graphic images of the Caretaker on his knees, maybe strapped to one of his favourite toys, or perhaps Santana could bend him over his own desk and let him suffer the humiliation of being unable to look at her. She wanted him to hurt. She wanted him to know he was dying, and to know it was Santana and Brittany who had bested him.

Above all else, she wanted him to suffer.

“I don’t know. Not yet,” she admitted, resting her hands on the small of Brittany’s back, her thumbs dipping just beneath the line of her bikini. They hadn’t spoken about it out loud before, not really, and suddenly it was all very real.

Santana bent her head forward and distracted herself by licking Brittany’s collarbone, tasting the salt their as a result from their earlier dip in the sea. She took her time, kissing and sucking at her skin hard enough to bruise, but never quite forgetting the question Brittany had asked. How were they going to do it?

“I suppose…” she started, thinking out loud as she brushed her lips up the column of Brittany’s throat, content to map out the girl’s skin with her mouth. “I suppose it would need to be quick. We’d have to immobilise him fast. He’s a strong man.” Stronger than us was left unsaid, but Santana persevered. “We’d have to catch him off guard. Distract him with the promise of submission and sex - that tends to do the trick around here.” It had worked with Santana, back when Brittany was still hell bent on escaping the Island. There was no reason it wouldn’t work on a man even more obsessed with control that Santana was.

“I could bring in a switchblade. Something small, something I could hide in my jacket or boots.” The only problem with that plan was the possibility of the Caretaker getting his hands on it and turning the whole thing on its head. “It would be difficult coming up behind him.” Santana spared Brittany a quick, appraising look, taking in the sight of her hair glowing in the sun, the healthy tint to her skin and the freckles that had sprung up along her shoulders. “But you can be incredibly distracting…”

Darling, I'm a Nightmare

#dian

13 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

Santana enjoyed a few more seconds of lounging in the sun before she forced her body over and up into a sitting position. As much as she might try to ignore it, there was obviously something troubling Brittany. She wasn’t too surprised; what they were planning was insane. Never had a Caretaker been killed by another Master before, not in the entire history of the Island. They were obeyed and respected, and a revolt was simply unheard of. Santana would never have considered it a year ago.

But a year ago, the Caretaker hadn’t threatened to take Brittany away from her. He hadn’t told Santana he would kick her down to slave status if she messed up again. That all made one hell of a difference.

There had been doubts. Santana’s imagination would conjure images of the two of them caught in his office, the Caretaker looming over them with his wicked grin. They would be separated, most likely sent to different islands, and after that? The punishment for attempting to murder the Caretaker?

Even Santana’s dark mind was silent.

“I won’t go anywhere, pet.” Brittany didn’t need to know about any of those concerns. What she needed now was to be reassured, and that was something Santana could give her. She hadn’t removed her hand from Brittany’s leg and now gave it a firm tug, not enough to actually move her, but enough that Brittany would know she was wanted. “Come here.”

Santana waited with open arms, letting Brittany position herself however she liked. “I’m still going to be your Mistress. I’d have other responsibilities…” A lot of responsibilities. “But once I have a Chain of Command up and running, I can delegate those to other Masters.” She would make time for Brittany, she decided, no matter what else was demanding her attention. “If we kill him, I can’t let the Island run into disarray. Other Masters will try to take charge. If one of them became Caretaker, do you really think they would risk having us around? We’d be considered a threat, and you know what happens to those around here. They’re neutralised.”

Santana wrapped her arms tighter around Brittany despite the heat, sighing in resignation. “I’ve gone over this in my head a thousand times, Britt-Britt. It’s the only way we make it out of this safe and together.”

Darling, I'm a Nightmare

#dian

13 notes · View notes

bitchtresslopez · 9 years

Text

“A beach house, maybe. I’d let you decorate it. You’re creative like that.” Santana let her fingers stroke across Brittany’s skin in idle patterns, already envisioning somewhere truly private they could hide out. “And because it sounds far too much like hard work. I’ll be busy with the rest of the Island.” It would be important to keep a tight grip on power in the immediate days after getting rid of the Caretaker. Replacing the Caretaker. There would be countless Masters trying to wrestle for the position, but Santana couldn’t let think for a moment that it was available.

It was hers, damn it. She wasn’t going to put in all this hard work, all this deceit, just for the Anderson brothers to sweep in and take control.

The silence that fell around them was a comfortable one. Santana closed her eyes again to enjoy the warmth from the sun sinking into her back and the sea breeze that would wash over them, bringing a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat.

“What else are you going to do, when you’re in charge?”

Her hand shifted to cover Brittany’s thigh with a small amount of pressure to show she was listening, though Santana kept her eyes closed as she asked herself that same question. It was something that had kept her awake at night and in her study during the day. What else? There were changes long overdue and Masters who were in dire need of a chilling wake-up call, but that was on top of the day-to-day running of the Island. They were still a business. If Santana wanted to hold her position as Caretaker, she would have to ensure that they weren’t losing money with the takeover.

“Everything.” Her hand ran down Brittany’s leg to wrap around her calf and squeeze gently, letting her nails scratch her skin. “I can’t stop bringing in slaves. I won’t stop bringing in slaves. I’d be dragged down from that Caretaker position if I ever let that happen, which would make all of this a complete waste.” Santana opened her eyes and found Brittany’s, going through everything she knew. “I would have to deal with slacking Masters and over exuberant slaves, make sure all the finances are in check, oversea the training of new slaves, send raiders out for fresh supplies, sort out a new Chain of Command…” And that was just scraping the top. Santana wrinkled her nose and sighed softly. It would be a power trip for sure, but she wasn't looking forward to the work load that came with it. “I’d be busy. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Darling, I'm a Nightmare

#dian

13 notes · View notes