Wanted to share some previous writing as I try to create some new materials. AFaB reader x Bo Sinclair (House of Wax 2005)

WARNINGS: MINOR CHARACTER DEATH, ABUSE, NONCON, SEXUAL THEMES, ASPHYXIATION, STRANGLING, REALLY REALLY NOT FOR THE CASUALLY THIRSTY. IT HITS PRETTY DARK MOMENTS THAT GO FAR AND SOME MAY NOT WANT TO READ. 18 PLEASE HEAD THESE WARNINGS!!

  You and Bo are an item. Let’s not dwell on the how and just focus on the now, shall we?

He’s still got the anger issues but for the most part when it comes to y'all you work them out in the bedroom. Or his truck. Or kitchen. The theater. Hell, even that one time on the roof of the house. Who knew stargazing could make someone so frisky?

When Bo needs to have things rough, which is almost always, it’s nothing you can’t handle. If it was you wouldn’t have made it anywhere close to this point in your relationship.

No. You offer up whatever Bo needs. And for a while you are more than enough.

But there’s a deep darkness there. And sometimes his hands around your throat merely rendering you unconscious isn’t enough to ease the tension built up inside him.

So you come to an agreement. If he needs this one thing you can’t provide personally then you’ll let him take it from others.    If you’re topside when new visitors roll in it becomes your own little game betting on which one he’ll choose. And no matter how much the flirting escalates or how many days he keeps them locked away under the station, you’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one providing everything else he desperately needs and desires. 

But as with all things there’s always a threshold.  So it comes to pass when a sweet young thing roles into town with a couple friends. Immediately you know which of the prey Bo will zero in on. He’s so predictable at times. Or more accurately he’s predictable to you because you know him so well. Sometimes better than he knows himself with the way he still tries to deny those thoughts and feelings that aren’t so easy for him to accept. 

You do your part. Leading persuading the other friends to follow you to the house while Bo works on their car. Certainly some refreshments and home cooked food for their bellies is better than standing around while he fiddles with their car. 

A smirk curves your lips at the face you expect him to make at your flippant comment about his work. Then quickly falls when you realize his attention is too enraptured by his chosen quarry. Swallowing down the sour taste of jealousy blooming on your tongue you force an easy smile back to your lips. 

“Don’t take too long Bo.” You call out as you usher the other visitors out into the Louisiana heat. You’re proud of how carefree your tone comes off. But he catches the warning, meeting your eyes with one of those patented smirks of his. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’.” 

A small but sweet acknowledgement of claim that easily washes away that bitter tang of jealousy lingering at the back of your mouth.  You were his and he was yours. Even if the victim was unaware or ignoring it. All that mattered was that Bo remember that. 

Vincent takes care of the other two with ease as they sit at the small dining table outside the kitchen door. Just as you’re bringing out two chilled glasses of lemonade to the table he’s knocked them both unconscious. Blessedly without spilling too much blood. 

It’s why you’d moved a table out here to sit the victims. The dark wood of this room easier to remove stains than having to regrout light colored tile in the kitchen. Never again you’d vowed. 

Dinner has come and gone. Vincent has already posed and coated the others in wax. Moved onto the smoothing and carving of their new flesh.

You take extra time in the shower. Allowing the warm water to ease the tension you’ve been carrying since serving dinner for three instead of four. You deep condition your hair and breathe in the calming scent of eucalyptus and vanilla infused candles. You take time letting your hair air dry while exfoliating your face and moisturizing every inch of your body. 

It’s near 10:30pm and still Bo hasn’t come home. You know he’s fine. His new little toy deftly restrained in his own undertown “workshop.” But usually he has the decency to come home! Is he planning on spending the night there?

That bitterness from earlier is clawing up your throat. You blow out the relaxing candle that was doing a pisspoor job of keeping you relaxed and move into the bedroom. You weren’t going to wait up for him. With any luck you’d be asleep by the time he dragged his ass home. 

One. Two. Three. Three fucking days of Bo spending all his free time at the damn gas station. 

In those three days you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why THIS particular fixation of his was making you so agitated but enough was enough. 

Packing up food from this night’s dinner that he’d forgone, yet again, you make your way into town. The gas station doors aren’t locked. Why would they need to be when no one entered the boundaries of this town without you all knowing. 

A heavy bassline thumps through the radio speakers in the lobby. You pay no mind to the words as your ears zero in on the strained screaming of the poor soul who’d become Bo’s current preoccupation.  Inhaling and exhaling deeply you school your expression into a stoic mask then descend into Bo’s DIY Tartarus. 

This door is locked. In case the prey finds some way to get loosed you presume. 

“ ‘M busy!” You hear Bo growl out over the woman’s reinvigorated pleas for help. 

“I advise penciling me in.” You call back in a sickly saccharine voice. You tended to stay away from either of the twins’ workshops. Even with his hydrophobic and soap-phobic tendencies you found Lester’s art more tolerable. If you wanted to watch any of the brothers with their chosen crafts. 

You believe you hear Bo say something like “stay there” but the soft volume makes you assume he’s not talking to you. Moments later there’s a click before the door swings open to reveal a sweaty, shirtless Bo. Jeans slung low on his hips and haphazardly zipped with the button at his fly remaining undone. “Hey Suga’. What brings ya by?”

With more force than necessary you press the bag of leftovers into his chest while pinning him with a pleasantly chipper smile before walking around him into the space. “Dinner. Figured you’d need something to refuel from all the activities keeping you away from home.” Your gaze sweeps the dim room, drawn immediately to the lamp light illuminating the mattress right in front of the door. 

The poor woman is stretched supine on the dingy sheets. Arms above her head, wrists bound tight with duct tape. Legs spread wide and tethered by the ankles with some thick, garish yellow nylon rope that prevent her from closing. 

“Thanks Darlin’.” Bo mentions cautiously. Your temper isn’t volatile and unpredictable like his. It’s piercing and direct, like a bullet. And when he had his wits about him he did well to remain out of the line of fire. Though obviously somehow he’d gotten pulled into your sights. He moves closer to you, leaning in to kiss your cheek. A gesture you allow, leaning your cheek out for him in encouragement. 

“Welcome. This is a different setup than I remember.”  “Made a few changes.”

“Hmm..well. I’m not here to interrupt too long. Feel free to continue.” 

A smirk balances precariously on his lips as he pins you with a skeptical look. “Ya wan’ta watch?” 

“Yeah.” You respond with a casual shrug. “I want to see what’s so captivating about this one to keep you here so much.” 

“Alright Darlin’.” Bo kicks the door closed and sets the leftovers to the side before moving back in front of the woman on the bed who’s returned to pitiful sobbing. “Looks like we got an audience sweetheart. Better make it a great show hn?” That patented smirk is fully lodged on his face now as he pushes denim and cotton down over his hips. 

You think about remaining standing to the side but something urges you to sit down on the mattress, near the victims mucus and tear stained face. 

Bo pumps his cock against his palm, pretty baby blues raking over your form as you reach out to tenderly stroke the woman’s hair. She’s babbling again. Begging you for mercy. Mercy you aren’t in any position to grant at this point. Without warning Bo snaps his hips forward, sheathing himself completely in the warm sloppy mess he’s made of her cunt. The force jolts her body up the mattress as it rips a high pitched yelp from her throat.

“Shh…Shhh…” You coo, fingers still tenderly stroking over locks of filthy hair. Dried cum, blood and sweat matting them into clumps you don’t attempt to untangle. Your soothing goes unheaded as Bo wastes no time upping his face. His fingers digging bruises into her hips as he brutally batters her overused hole. The woman’s shrieks ramp up in volume alongside his pace. The pitch ear splitting. You wonder how after three days she hasn’t completely lost her voice. Brows pinching into a scowl you stand from the mattress. The motion raises Bo’s gaze to you but his movements don’t ease up. 

You’re not sure what has possessed you to these actions but in moments you’ve kicked off your shoes and pulled off your own jeans and underwear. The discarded jeans land close to the mattress as you step up to place a foot on either side of her head. Carefully you lower yourself until your pussy hovers over her open mouth. “If you’re not gonna be quiet then at least be useful.” Bo’s thrusts have stopped now. Watching you in a slight daze as you straddle the other woman’s face, frowning down at her as you speak. “Now lick. Do a good job and maybe I’ll find you a way out of this mess. Hm?” You lower your hips as her tongue eagerly lifts up to meet your slit. Willing to do anything to escape this hell she’d found herself in. 

A deep appreciative moan spills from your lips as you close your eyes and focus on the feel of her tongue lapping over and between your folds. When Bo doesn’t immediately begin his vigorous thrusting you open your gaze to him. “Well? You gonna let me have all the fun now?” Fun? Who were you right now? 

A genuine smile you’d almost label sappy blooms on Bo’s handsome face. One of his hands extends up to grip your chin firmly, pulling you forward enough to kiss you deep. All tongue and teeth for a long few moments before pulling back and restarting his punishing pace. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’” 

The phrase does more to light a fire in your belly than the tongue working your sex or his hungry kiss. A smile brightens your own face as you close your eyes and rock your hips against the woman’s face. Reveling in the positive feelings swirling through your body instead of the negative ones trying to launch up to the surface.  In time you reach down and swirl your fingers over her clit. You’re sure Bo has worked her through numerous orgasms in the past few days. He gets off even more manipulating that pleasure from bodies that try hardest to resist. But you want to gift her some pleasure. Surely she’s earned it surviving this long. 

Together you pull multiple orgasms from her overloaded body until the fatigue is too much and her body sinks exhausted against the mattress. Barely any energy to keep motion in her tongue. A limp and sleepy doll is no fun for anyone. 

A dark idea lances to the front of your mind. It sets off a shudder through your body like a firework exploding in a radiant sphere of lines with each fizzling out along your nerve endings leaving your whole body tingling. Before your rational mind talks you out of it your hands move around the woman’s throat. It’s strange from this angle but you do your best to apply pressure against her carotid artery and vagus nerve with your thumbs. Causing that beautiful build of pressure which makes one feel like they’re floating. Hands overlapping the front of her throat, the sides of your fingers apply enough force to cut her access to new oxygen without smashing her trachea. The loss of oxygen is enough to immediately spark renewed energy throughout her body. Her bound wrists beat against your back weakly as her body begins to jerk and convulse beneath you both. You know it’s one of Bo’s favorite ways to finish and you want to show him that you can be a part of snapping the tension built up inside him. 

Your gaze trails from where his hips continue bucking into this latest little doll up to his baby blues. She wouldn’t survive this. But you would. You’d still be here.  “Mine.” You state firmly, leaning forward seeking a kiss which he earnestly provides. His hands cup your face hard while he snaps his hips. Once. Twice. Three times and he’s spilling into her cunt for the last time. Your hands remain closed tight on her throat until the thrashing stills. You can now give him everything. Without your body ending up forever unconscious to be discarded for another. You can give him everything he needs and desires. Only you.