It was just a taste, his mouth slanting over mine, the flicker of his tongue. Then he slipped away, a sound on the exhale that would have been a groan on someone else, and buried his face in my breasts. He made another sound low in his throat, rubbing his cheek against me. Then he turned his head and his mouth found my nipple, hot and wetly chafing through my t-shirt. I arched into him, I couldn’t help it.
I was stretched back, hands behind me for balance, and I couldn’t do anything. He grabbed my hips, dragging me down to the edge of the desk. And he was right there between my legs before I knew what was happening. I rocked against him instinctively, and he jerked, a ripple of uncontrolled want down his whole body. I could feel him getting harder through my jeans. It was an odd, doubled moment; I could remember what that felt like, the tightening coil of tension, but I was overwhelmed by the heat between my legs, the growing slickness, the maddeningly faint whisper of friction from my underwear. He bit at me lightly through my t-shirt, rubbing against me hard enough to chafe the seam of my jeans almost where I needed it. Those were the only points of contact between us – his mouth on my breast and his dick pushing against me. We flexed together, striving.
Yeah, okay, I was going to do this.
But I definitely wasn’t going to do it on his desk.
“Hey,” I said, knocking sharply on his temple. “We’re not doing this here. I’m not your fucking secretary.”
He was laughing, of all things, when he came up. “If you wanted a bed, all you’ve ever had to do was ask,” he said. “Come on.”
Huh, we never had made it to a bed before, had we? Just a few different walls, the back seat in a succession of his cars, and his office couch, once. Funny, I’d never noticed, but no beds.
Which was a damn shame, because his was huge and ridiculously comfortable. I rolled onto it, stretched from my fingertips to my toes, and groaned.
Marcone eyed me dubiously. “Should I leave you two alone?”
“Mmm,” I said, stretching again. I hadn’t even known my back was aching until it magically stopped. “If this thing could give me an orgasm, you’d be totally out of luck.”
“Lucky for me, then,” he said, and went for my jeans. I kicked off my boots fast as I could, but he was still faster. There are a lot of sexy things in the world, but I firmly believe that nothing is sexier than knowing someone wants you. And Marcone wanted me.
I hadn’t even started to get my shirt off when he ran his hand up the inside of my thigh and cupped me with a perfect, shifting pressure. He stroked me once, exploratory, and then worked two fingers into me. I said “oh!” louder than I’d meant, squeezing down on them, and releasing, and squeezing again. He started in on me with his other hand, too, working his fingertips against me until I jerked and shook. Oh, okay, that was – that was my clit. It was also awesome.
But the bright shocks of pleasure were muffling the other sensation of his fingers slowly pumping in me, and I really wanted to feel that. So I grabbed his wrist, pulling one hand away while I shoved shamelessly onto the other.
“Well, all right then,” Marcone said, smiling, and stretched me open on another finger. It was . . . I felt . . .
“Okay,” I said suddenly, sitting up. I had abruptly jumped from yeah, this is good, going to get better to want an orgasm right fucking now. “Come on,” I said, pawing at him. “Take your pants off.”
Which was a genius plan, except that he needed both hands. I had to work hard not to clamp my thighs around his wrist to keep him in place. It was okay, though, because I replaced his fingers with mine, pushing three in deep and rocking them as hard as I could. My eyes rolled back in my head.
“Jesus Christ,” Marcone said, and I heard his belt hit the wall with some force. A drawer rattled, slammed, a box tore. I twisted my hand, wondering if I could take a fourth finger.
I didn’t get to find out. He was on me, tearing my hand away and replacing it with his. “Off,” he barked, running the other hand up under my shirt. I obliged, flinging it away.
“What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” I demanded.
“I’ve waited longer for less from you,” he shot back, with real heat.
“Well, I’m not waiting,” I said. “Get on with it or get out of the way so I can.”
“Christ,” he said again. “Did you use up your lifetime’s supply of foreplay over the past three months?”
. . . The past three months counted as foreplay? “Suck it up and fuck me,” I said.
He smiled with sudden savagery, and I realized huh, that might have been the engraved invitation right there.
He pushed his dick into me. It was blunt and fat, getting me deep where my fingers hadn’t. I whined, throwing my head back and wriggling on it.
“That’s right,” he said. “Take it, just like that.” I felt a wave of heat travel from my face down my body. I hadn’t known people actually said those sorts of things, outside of Bob’s books. And that when they did, it sounded like that.
He fucked me slowly, sliding deep and easing back out. It was good, but it wasn’t going to get me there fast, and I wanted fast.
“Harder,” I said, tugging at him. “I could be doing the crossword up here.”
“I’ve had arresting officers who were less bossy than you,” he said, which was the pot calling the kettle black if you ask me. But he shifted up, getting his knees under him and powering into me.
My feet were dangling over the edge of the bed; I scrabbled several inches back to get purchase, and he stuck with me. I spread my legs wider, giving him more room. But that took away all my leverage, kept me from rocking up into him the way I wanted. I shifted, experimenting while his dick pushed and pushed in me. It was good, but it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t scratching that itch.
So I swept one of Marcone’s hands out from under him and rolled up to plant my shoulder in his chest. He went over, surprised, slipping out of me. I crawled after, scrambling to get him back in me. I straddled him, sinking down. And there, that’s what I’d wanted. I sat back hard on his dick, rocked, then rode him hard, my hips slamming down into his.
“If you want something done right, gotta do it yourself, I guess,” I panted to him.
Marcone wasn’t even pretending to look at my face. He was staring at my breasts, his lips parted, eyes a little glazed. “Not to ruin your fun,” he said, voice hitching as I sped up even more, “but you could not say a single thing right now to irritate me.”
“Wanna bet?” I said, because there was no way I could leave that alone. Except right then I couldn’t think about much aside from his dick sliding and sliding in me, and how I was wet down my thighs, and the way he was looking at me. I clenched down, working myself hard on him.
He grabbed my thighs, helping a bit but mostly just groping me. “I’m going to put you in a dress,” he said, voice jagged. “Red, I think. Short and tight.”
“What’s in it for me?” I asked.
“Take you to dinner,” he said. “Somewhere five star. Get you drunk on champagne. And when we’re done, walk you out the back, push you up against the alley wall. Lift your skirt, fuck you right there, no underwear.”
I tossed my head, buzzed on a weird cocktail of outrage and heat. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”
He laughed, showing me his teeth. “I don’t think,” he said. “Now I know.” He paused, face possessed by focused thought. “No,” he said, eyes snapping up to mine. “I was wrong. You’ll be wearing underwear. So I can tear them to get to you.”
I wobbled on him, distracted, my legs tiring. He pounced like a cat, rolling me under him in one smooth motion.
“Don’t worry, I got the memo,” he said, hitching one of my legs up in the crook of his arm. He slammed into me, then pulled back and fucked me hard for a minute, brutal and shallow and perfect. He was sweating when he slowed again, out of breath. “You like it?”
I rolled my eyes. What did he want, a medal? “Hate it,” I said. “Bored out of my mind.”
He smiled, unphased. “What does it feel like?”
Intense. Surprising. I felt possessing, not possessed. Like taking him into me made me larger, more encompassing. “It’s . . . full,” I said. “Friction. I like when – ah.”
He snapped his hips, watching my face, then nodded. “This?” he said, and did it again. I loved that jolt of his body against mine, the slap of our skin, the way the sensation stung a little over my aching clit.
Marcone pulled out, keeping me spread wide with my leg folded over his arm. He lifted his other hand, visibly calculating, then slapped me, fingers spread, right over my open cunt.
I screamed. It was such a keen shock of pleasure, it circled back to painful.
He showed me his open hand, a question in his eyes. I puffed out an explosive breath of irritation. Why couldn’t he just do it, why did he always need me to ask?
I nodded, turning my face away so I wouldn’t see it coming. I screamed for that one, too, even though I was trying to hold it down.
I was throbbing, the blood rushing under my skin when he pushed his dick back into me. The slap of his hips against me now made my toes curl, my legs flex into a cramp. I got a hand between us, my fingers pressing hard where I needed them.
“Don’t stop,” I babbled. “Don’t stop don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop. I came while he pounded into me, each hard push forcing another shock through me. By the end of it I was just cupping tender fingers over my clit, protecting it as I rode out the last ebbing waves.
[But wait, there's more! Ahaha, so much more porn, I don't even].
I don't know - maybe it's something to do with the genderswap and how aware we are of the change? Some of the other genderswap het I've read has been pretty damn hot too.
The guys are all dicks in het romances (the girls aren't much better) and it's all just off enough that the headspace never happens.
You've got it dead on. The way guys and girls in het romances are written, to say nothing of the actual relationship dynamics, is definitely a turn-off.
I dunno. I think that finding kinky powerplay het sex to have nasty baggage -- but not finding any baggage when a guy gets the girl's body -- means that there's not all the exploration there could be of the genderswap. (Also it's a sort of sad view of kinky powerplay het sex, from the point of view of someone who loves having it.)
When you take one half of a same-sex couple and genderswap them, voila! Het without all the nasty baggage.
Authoranon vigorously disagrees. There are all sorts of ways both genderswap and sexswap go skeevy. It will become clear in this story, for example, that one reason Harry is enjoying himself so much is that he's letting himself get fucked the way he's always wanted to, and he can finally let that happen because hey he's magically a woman and that's what women do, right? Oh Harry, you complete sexual politics failboat, you. Which is still skeevy, even though I know that's what I'm doing and it's completely consonant with characterization.
Also disagree with the casual assumption that giving someone a vagina automatically makes it het. This story is largely genderswap in the sense that Harry is feeling and expressing identity aspects he labels "feminine," but he is also a gender essentialist fuckwit and he's using his transformation as an excuse for a lot of things he wants to be feeling anyway. In the case of sexswap, where a character merely changes biological sexes without any alteration in gender expression . . . that ain't het just because there's a vagina.
This comment from authoranon makes it clear there's a reason I'm finding this story incredibly hot. It's because there's so *much* skeeviness there, and it's owned. In fact, the first part of the story (where Harry's all swooning over "I could not like those things, no lady would ever EVER") sets that up perfectly.
Oh, authoranon, your smart is more of a turnon than your story, and that's saying something.
My comment was a ridiculous over-simplification of why the hottest het often seems to involve genderswap/sexswap/what have you. I get that the issue is a lot more complex than that. I'd feel quite stupid at having posted such a statement without any explanation or disclaimer, but at least there's some interesting discussion coming out of it.
So, yeah. I totally agree with what you're saying.
you just have to find the right het romances. Some of them are absolutely fabulous at relationship dynamics, gender dynamics, power dynamics, and of course, porn. Plenty of them aren't, but Sturgeon's law applies to romances just as it applies to fanfiction.
And you can also read het fanfic, not just published romances. There is, again, Sturgeon's law, but there's good stuff out there! I cut my fannish eyeteeth on reading some pretty amazing het.
New anon here. Trufax. It really depends on the characters in the fandom, though, what kind of het writers can get away with. For example, I'd be willing to buy d/s with submissive Molly or Susan in a way I wouldn't be with Murphy. For Molly and Susan, it could easily be just another part of their sex life, but Murphy's life is so heavily built on displaying that she can be in charge and discarding any traditionally feminine trappings that a submissive Murphy would be more difficult to navigate. Not saying it couldn't be done, but you'd need to get into her headspace more, because it would be a vulnerability to her in a way it wouldn't be with other characters.
You also have to be able to escape the romance-novel pitfalls and write the characters as themselves, not archetypes. This is true in slash fiction as well (oh goodness is it ever true is slash fiction), but it's noticeable in a different way in het.
This thread is getting me all hot and bothered. :-)
For me, submissive Susan would definitely require delving into a lot of the sketchiness of Butcher's gender roles and societal gender roles about submission in general -- could totally still work, and could totally be hot, but would require that exploration.
On the other hand, I could imagine submissive Murphy without needing any of those things, because I don't think she would get into a d/s situation with a guy, without having made it abundantly clear ahead of time that she is absolutely the top in whatever pairing would be involved. So the d/s sex would be entirely *sex*, and the kink would be *kink*, and she might be bottoming but she would be topping from there. "Now we are going to have a scene, Harry, and you are going to pull my hair and smack my ass and call me names, and if you don't I will make you regret ever having been born, capisce?" And it would be lolarious how nervous that would make him.
I would really, really, really like to read that story.
There's a kink negotiation prompt on here somewhere that sounds a lot like that (and I may have been the one to post it I mean what, what are you talking about?).
I could deal with submissive Susan because I can see her being very "this is something I enjoy; whatever" about the whole thing. I can buy that one day she read something/saw something/did something that put the idea in her head, tossed it in her mental kink file and then went out for waffles. I don't see any canon for kink to be a particularly big deal for Susan, and she doesn't particularly have any skeevy "rightful place" overtones the way say, Luccio or Charity would. It has much more to do with how Susan is in-universe than how she is as a character on a meta level.
Murphy, on the other hand, has spent so much time clawing her way to the top that I'd need to see the scenario you described above, or see her actually coming to terms with the fact that yes, she does like to do this in bed and no, it doesn't make her weak. I'd also need to see the level of trust in her partner; d/s requires a fair amount of trust to begin with, but for a character like Murphy who is so heavily invested in being able to kick ass and take names, showing the side that likes to be told what to do would take a partner she was incredibly comfortable with.
OH SWEET JESUS. THIS IS SO HOT I ACTUALLY STOPPED BREATHING WHILE READING. HOW COULD THERE POSSIBLY BE MORE? DID YOU SELL YOUR SOUL OR SOMETHING? BECAUSE THIS LEVEL OF HOT SHOULDN'T BE POSSIBLE.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 12:50 am (UTC)I was stretched back, hands behind me for balance, and I couldn’t do anything. He grabbed my hips, dragging me down to the edge of the desk. And he was right there between my legs before I knew what was happening. I rocked against him instinctively, and he jerked, a ripple of uncontrolled want down his whole body. I could feel him getting harder through my jeans. It was an odd, doubled moment; I could remember what that felt like, the tightening coil of tension, but I was overwhelmed by the heat between my legs, the growing slickness, the maddeningly faint whisper of friction from my underwear. He bit at me lightly through my t-shirt, rubbing against me hard enough to chafe the seam of my jeans almost where I needed it. Those were the only points of contact between us – his mouth on my breast and his dick pushing against me. We flexed together, striving.
Yeah, okay, I was going to do this.
But I definitely wasn’t going to do it on his desk.
“Hey,” I said, knocking sharply on his temple. “We’re not doing this here. I’m not your fucking secretary.”
He was laughing, of all things, when he came up. “If you wanted a bed, all you’ve ever had to do was ask,” he said. “Come on.”
Huh, we never had made it to a bed before, had we? Just a few different walls, the back seat in a succession of his cars, and his office couch, once. Funny, I’d never noticed, but no beds.
Which was a damn shame, because his was huge and ridiculously comfortable. I rolled onto it, stretched from my fingertips to my toes, and groaned.
Marcone eyed me dubiously. “Should I leave you two alone?”
“Mmm,” I said, stretching again. I hadn’t even known my back was aching until it magically stopped. “If this thing could give me an orgasm, you’d be totally out of luck.”
“Lucky for me, then,” he said, and went for my jeans. I kicked off my boots fast as I could, but he was still faster. There are a lot of sexy things in the world, but I firmly believe that nothing is sexier than knowing someone wants you. And Marcone wanted me.
I hadn’t even started to get my shirt off when he ran his hand up the inside of my thigh and cupped me with a perfect, shifting pressure. He stroked me once, exploratory, and then worked two fingers into me. I said “oh!” louder than I’d meant, squeezing down on them, and releasing, and squeezing again. He started in on me with his other hand, too, working his fingertips against me until I jerked and shook. Oh, okay, that was – that was my clit. It was also awesome.
But the bright shocks of pleasure were muffling the other sensation of his fingers slowly pumping in me, and I really wanted to feel that. So I grabbed his wrist, pulling one hand away while I shoved shamelessly onto the other.
“Well, all right then,” Marcone said, smiling, and stretched me open on another finger. It was . . . I felt . . .
“Okay,” I said suddenly, sitting up. I had abruptly jumped from yeah, this is good, going to get better to want an orgasm right fucking now. “Come on,” I said, pawing at him. “Take your pants off.”
Which was a genius plan, except that he needed both hands. I had to work hard not to clamp my thighs around his wrist to keep him in place. It was okay, though, because I replaced his fingers with mine, pushing three in deep and rocking them as hard as I could. My eyes rolled back in my head.
“Jesus Christ,” Marcone said, and I heard his belt hit the wall with some force. A drawer rattled, slammed, a box tore. I twisted my hand, wondering if I could take a fourth finger.
I didn’t get to find out. He was on me, tearing my hand away and replacing it with his. “Off,” he barked, running the other hand up under my shirt. I obliged, flinging it away.
“What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” I demanded.
“I’ve waited longer for less from you,” he shot back, with real heat.
“Well, I’m not waiting,” I said. “Get on with it or get out of the way so I can.”
“Christ,” he said again. “Did you use up your lifetime’s supply of foreplay over the past three months?”
. . . The past three months counted as foreplay? “Suck it up and fuck me,” I said.
He smiled with sudden savagery, and I realized huh, that might have been the engraved invitation right there.
He pushed his dick into me. It was blunt and fat, getting me deep where my fingers hadn’t. I whined, throwing my head back and wriggling on it.
“That’s right,” he said. “Take it, just like that.” I felt a wave of heat travel from my face down my body. I hadn’t known people actually said those sorts of things, outside of Bob’s books. And that when they did, it sounded like that.
He fucked me slowly, sliding deep and easing back out. It was good, but it wasn’t going to get me there fast, and I wanted fast.
“Harder,” I said, tugging at him. “I could be doing the crossword up here.”
“I’ve had arresting officers who were less bossy than you,” he said, which was the pot calling the kettle black if you ask me. But he shifted up, getting his knees under him and powering into me.
My feet were dangling over the edge of the bed; I scrabbled several inches back to get purchase, and he stuck with me. I spread my legs wider, giving him more room. But that took away all my leverage, kept me from rocking up into him the way I wanted. I shifted, experimenting while his dick pushed and pushed in me. It was good, but it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t scratching that itch.
So I swept one of Marcone’s hands out from under him and rolled up to plant my shoulder in his chest. He went over, surprised, slipping out of me. I crawled after, scrambling to get him back in me. I straddled him, sinking down. And there, that’s what I’d wanted. I sat back hard on his dick, rocked, then rode him hard, my hips slamming down into his.
“If you want something done right, gotta do it yourself, I guess,” I panted to him.
Marcone wasn’t even pretending to look at my face. He was staring at my breasts, his lips parted, eyes a little glazed. “Not to ruin your fun,” he said, voice hitching as I sped up even more, “but you could not say a single thing right now to irritate me.”
“Wanna bet?” I said, because there was no way I could leave that alone. Except right then I couldn’t think about much aside from his dick sliding and sliding in me, and how I was wet down my thighs, and the way he was looking at me. I clenched down, working myself hard on him.
He grabbed my thighs, helping a bit but mostly just groping me. “I’m going to put you in a dress,” he said, voice jagged. “Red, I think. Short and tight.”
“What’s in it for me?” I asked.
“Take you to dinner,” he said. “Somewhere five star. Get you drunk on champagne. And when we’re done, walk you out the back, push you up against the alley wall. Lift your skirt, fuck you right there, no underwear.”
I tossed my head, buzzed on a weird cocktail of outrage and heat. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”
He laughed, showing me his teeth. “I don’t think,” he said. “Now I know.” He paused, face possessed by focused thought. “No,” he said, eyes snapping up to mine. “I was wrong. You’ll be wearing underwear. So I can tear them to get to you.”
I wobbled on him, distracted, my legs tiring. He pounced like a cat, rolling me under him in one smooth motion.
“Don’t worry, I got the memo,” he said, hitching one of my legs up in the crook of his arm. He slammed into me, then pulled back and fucked me hard for a minute, brutal and shallow and perfect. He was sweating when he slowed again, out of breath. “You like it?”
I rolled my eyes. What did he want, a medal? “Hate it,” I said. “Bored out of my mind.”
He smiled, unphased. “What does it feel like?”
Intense. Surprising. I felt possessing, not possessed. Like taking him into me made me larger, more encompassing. “It’s . . . full,” I said. “Friction. I like when – ah.”
He snapped his hips, watching my face, then nodded. “This?” he said, and did it again. I loved that jolt of his body against mine, the slap of our skin, the way the sensation stung a little over my aching clit.
Marcone pulled out, keeping me spread wide with my leg folded over his arm. He lifted his other hand, visibly calculating, then slapped me, fingers spread, right over my open cunt.
I screamed. It was such a keen shock of pleasure, it circled back to painful.
He showed me his open hand, a question in his eyes. I puffed out an explosive breath of irritation. Why couldn’t he just do it, why did he always need me to ask?
I nodded, turning my face away so I wouldn’t see it coming. I screamed for that one, too, even though I was trying to hold it down.
I was throbbing, the blood rushing under my skin when he pushed his dick back into me. The slap of his hips against me now made my toes curl, my legs flex into a cramp. I got a hand between us, my fingers pressing hard where I needed them.
“Don’t stop,” I babbled. “Don’t stop don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop. I came while he pounded into me, each hard push forcing another shock through me. By the end of it I was just cupping tender fingers over my clit, protecting it as I rode out the last ebbing waves.
[But wait, there's more! Ahaha, so much more porn, I don't even].
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 01:00 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 01:02 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 01:41 am (UTC)KEEP GOING I WANT ALL THE PORN
(seriously, why does all the hottest het I've read involve Harry Dresden as a woman?)
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 05:32 am (UTC)The guys are all dicks in het romances (the girls aren't much better) and it's all just off enough that the headspace never happens.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 05:48 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 05:50 am (UTC)When you take one half of a same-sex couple and genderswap them, voila! Het without all the nasty baggage.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 05:58 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 07:40 am (UTC)Authoranon vigorously disagrees. There are all sorts of ways both genderswap and sexswap go skeevy. It will become clear in this story, for example, that one reason Harry is enjoying himself so much is that he's letting himself get fucked the way he's always wanted to, and he can finally let that happen because hey he's magically a woman and that's what women do, right? Oh Harry, you complete sexual politics failboat, you. Which is still skeevy, even though I know that's what I'm doing and it's completely consonant with characterization.
Also disagree with the casual assumption that giving someone a vagina automatically makes it het. This story is largely genderswap in the sense that Harry is feeling and expressing identity aspects he labels "feminine," but he is also a gender essentialist fuckwit and he's using his transformation as an excuse for a lot of things he wants to be feeling anyway. In the case of sexswap, where a character merely changes biological sexes without any alteration in gender expression . . . that ain't het just because there's a vagina.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 07:46 am (UTC)Oh, authoranon, your smart is more of a turnon than your story, and that's saying something.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 04:41 pm (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 07:04 pm (UTC)My comment was a ridiculous over-simplification of why the hottest het often seems to involve genderswap/sexswap/what have you. I get that the issue is a lot more complex than that. I'd feel quite stupid at having posted such a statement without any explanation or disclaimer, but at least there's some interesting discussion coming out of it.
So, yeah. I totally agree with what you're saying.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 05:55 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 06:07 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 06:51 am (UTC)You also have to be able to escape the romance-novel pitfalls and write the characters as themselves, not archetypes. This is true in slash fiction as well (oh goodness is it ever true is slash fiction), but it's noticeable in a different way in het.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 06:59 am (UTC)For me, submissive Susan would definitely require delving into a lot of the sketchiness of Butcher's gender roles and societal gender roles about submission in general -- could totally still work, and could totally be hot, but would require that exploration.
On the other hand, I could imagine submissive Murphy without needing any of those things, because I don't think she would get into a d/s situation with a guy, without having made it abundantly clear ahead of time that she is absolutely the top in whatever pairing would be involved. So the d/s sex would be entirely *sex*, and the kink would be *kink*, and she might be bottoming but she would be topping from there. "Now we are going to have a scene, Harry, and you are going to pull my hair and smack my ass and call me names, and if you don't I will make you regret ever having been born, capisce?" And it would be lolarious how nervous that would make him.
I would really, really, really like to read that story.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 07:07 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 07:24 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 07:16 am (UTC)I could deal with submissive Susan because I can see her being very "this is something I enjoy; whatever" about the whole thing. I can buy that one day she read something/saw something/did something that put the idea in her head, tossed it in her mental kink file and then went out for waffles. I don't see any canon for kink to be a particularly big deal for Susan, and she doesn't particularly have any skeevy "rightful place" overtones the way say, Luccio or Charity would. It has much more to do with how Susan is in-universe than how she is as a character on a meta level.
Murphy, on the other hand, has spent so much time clawing her way to the top that I'd need to see the scenario you described above, or see her actually coming to terms with the fact that yes, she does like to do this in bed and no, it doesn't make her weak. I'd also need to see the level of trust in her partner; d/s requires a fair amount of trust to begin with, but for a character like Murphy who is so heavily invested in being able to kick ass and take names, showing the side that likes to be told what to do would take a partner she was incredibly comfortable with.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 01:54 am (UTC)Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 01:59 am (UTC)I'M WITH YOU, JOHN.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 02:49 am (UTC)Congratulations - I haven't found het-esque porn that hot in a long time. There's more coming?
Altered to be in line with comments upthread, which actually make some amount of sense to me.
Re: Fill: That Kind of Girl (3/?)
Date: 2011-02-13 05:29 am (UTC)Just what John said. Fuck, this is hot.