/coq/ - Queer Promotions

Time for pornography? Trying to bring coq back from the dead. I know it's not in character and I managed not mention genitals... should I blame it on being English?

I have heard that fast-food workers don't eat the stuff they make and that people who stare at a screen all day for a job don't want to do the same for fun. I can understand that. After an exhausting day manifesting my will it is nice to submit to another’s. I think he would see it differently. After not having things do as he wished it must be nice to get exactly what he wants.


I have walked on far off planets. I have seen solar systems engulfed by stars. I have seen a thousand civilisations in battle. I know how transient things can be. Yet within the chaos and emptiness of space I have found a home. Safe and warm. Within his arms.

It started so simple. He called me his protégé and his friend and now here we are. He still instructs me, guiding me with a gentle hand as often as with a harsh word. He knows how to make me. All for my 'betterment'.

Our first kisses were of comfort. Cracked lips and tenderness. Yet even when I initiated intimacy... I wondered after if he had trained me for this, too. Like a tree is tied to grow in it's owners chosen shape. With us the ropes came later.

No matter who was frustrated, I was always the one being held down or pressed against a wall or bound by constructs I could not have kept formed in such moments of passion. He would console me with the tender movements of a rough hand while he ensured I stayed still to receive the treatment. Even in moments that may have looked equal he kept just enough control. Our little routines. We would hold each other tight as we moved ourselves together. When we approached our climax he would hold my head in place so I would look into his eyes. If I was good he would deal with the mess quickly. If I displeased him I would have to use my tongue.


It must be funny. Red blooded American male taking the role of a woman. I'm not talking about being penetrated or submissive. I know more than enough women who are anything but passive. I mean finding someone handsome. I mean the scary-confused feeling after being told how attractive you are by someone who believes every word. I mean that satisfaction, after you yourself are long spent, when he gives those final thrusts.


I don't know when it began. Slowly, I guess. A reassuring embrace is still that, whether it lasts for a second or an hour. I remember us returning together from a particularly vicious battle. The puncture wounds in my back were shallow but my arm and hand were torn up to bad for certain de-stressing activities.

We were mostly nude when he began disinfecting the cuts on my back. He leaned into me as he worked his way across my body. He shushed me if I winced and nuzzled a little into my neck when he let me tend to his scrapes. He was barely hurt but there was a risk if all the muck was not cleaned out. I made a joke about him always fighting dirty. I didn't hear him laugh but I felt it. His body shook against me. Then I made a joke about my hand not being there for me tonight when he was.

The laughing stopped. He got up then guided me to the nearest bedroom available.

The mattresses on Oa are a tad soft for my taste. He sat, resting his back against the wall and gestured for me to sit between his legs. I mirrored his position, leaning back against his chest with my legs parted slightly. I want to say I was expecting his planets version of a massage but maybe I was hoping for something more.

It started easily enough. He held me to him with one hand and traced fingers over my body with his other. Leg to hip to side and back down again. I opened my mouth to protest but he hushed me. He placed kisses on my shoulders and neck, careful to avoid any injury. When I had relaxed he gave his first order of that kind.

“Take them off”

I can only guess what would have happened if I had said no. I expect he would have let me go. But I complied. He drew patterns on the inside of my thighs with faint scratches until I was ready. Then he took me in his hand and began to stroke. Cautious at first. Then firm. The hand that held me in place moved higher until he kept me in a half-hug, his open hand a little closer to my throat than was necessary.

He was hard, too, by then. The kisses had been replaced with a combat review and then panting. I bit my lip to stifle a moan but he told me to let it out. I did and he pressed his hips against me and let out a sigh. When I tried to warn him that I was close he grunted and affirmative then told me to 'cum for him'.

So I did.

There was simplicity to it. He wiped his hand clean on a spare strip of gauze and we lay down to sleep.