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kinkfestTitle: Good Girls Don't
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
athousandwinds
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possible dub-con, internalised misogyny.
Prompt: Princess Tutu, Rue/Mytho: guilt- She knew she was an awful girl.
Word count: 654
Summary: What princesses do or do not do.
Good girls don't give in before marriage. Good girls win princes by being kinder and gentler than all the rest. There are stories – Herr Drosselmeyer wrote a few – about sweet-hearted peasant girls winning their Tsars away from cold-hearted princesses, and they didn't do it with the power of lust. Good girls don't use sorcery; only evil witches do that.
Rue used to ask Mytho, "Do you love me?" She doesn't now, because of course he does, Father said he would, and he always used to say it himself.
She wishes, a little bit, that she hadn't had to ask. She wishes, a little bit, that she dared ask now.
Sometimes, Mytho was rough with her – when he was angry, and she didn't know how to deal with his anger any other way. It had returned to him too late, after desire. He would press her against the wall and yank sharply at her hair, ignoring the tears springing to her eyes. He never kissed her, then, but might bite her throat or her breast, or tear her bodice so he could rasp his tongue over her nipple. When he pushed in, she would gasp and try to bury her face in his neck, only to be thrown back hard against the wall, her right leg wrapped tight around his waist and desperately trying to keep her balance so he could go on thrusting in and out, in and out, until finally he would grunt with exertion, as if he'd stabbed her with a knife, and pull away for good.
After those times, Rue was always left sinking down to the floor – gracefully, as Father taught her – the black feathers of her bodice scattered on the carpet, her hair a mess and her basque ripped and exposing her to anyone who walked in. And she would think of what she had made of Mytho, and she would hate herself for enjoying someone who was not her prince. Even changing her clothes made her feel no better. Every time she became Kraehe, her tutu was as good as new, as if nothing had ever occurred. But she knew she was an awful girl inside.
It was worse when he was gentle with her. When he was gentle, Rue knew he must be thinking of something else; the next piece of his heart, perhaps, or Princess Tutu. When he was gentle, he would take her by the hand and lead her slowly to the bed. He would coax her into lying down so that he could stroke her skin; he would trace the lines of her white arms, he would skim the edge of her bodice to make her draw a sharp breath and then down her body to her thighs, caressing the soft inner skin and blowing lightly over her basque until the light cloth was wet with her juices. And then he would stop, waiting until her white skin was scarlet with shame and humiliation, and she begged him to make her come.
When she did, he would smile at her; pleased and sweet and affectionate, like her prince should, the smile he had only ever given Tutu. It made her stomach drop and the guilt in her heart would come near to overflowing, before it was overtaken by pleasure.
Afterwards, she was left with only the guilt, naked in Mytho's bed.
Once, only once, Rue asked, "Do you love me?"
He had rolled over to face her and smiled again, almost like he had before, only not quite, because here it was tainted with mockery. Princes did not love witches.
He didn't, in point of fact, say, "No". He didn't have to, for Rue was already dressing, fleeing out of his room with her blouse only half-buttoned. It didn't even matter if anyone saw her, because everyone knew Rue was a good girl.
She always did what her father told her to, after all.
Author/Artist:
athousandwindsRating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possible dub-con, internalised misogyny.
Prompt: Princess Tutu, Rue/Mytho: guilt- She knew she was an awful girl.
Word count: 654
Summary: What princesses do or do not do.
Good girls don't give in before marriage. Good girls win princes by being kinder and gentler than all the rest. There are stories – Herr Drosselmeyer wrote a few – about sweet-hearted peasant girls winning their Tsars away from cold-hearted princesses, and they didn't do it with the power of lust. Good girls don't use sorcery; only evil witches do that.
Rue used to ask Mytho, "Do you love me?" She doesn't now, because of course he does, Father said he would, and he always used to say it himself.
She wishes, a little bit, that she hadn't had to ask. She wishes, a little bit, that she dared ask now.
Sometimes, Mytho was rough with her – when he was angry, and she didn't know how to deal with his anger any other way. It had returned to him too late, after desire. He would press her against the wall and yank sharply at her hair, ignoring the tears springing to her eyes. He never kissed her, then, but might bite her throat or her breast, or tear her bodice so he could rasp his tongue over her nipple. When he pushed in, she would gasp and try to bury her face in his neck, only to be thrown back hard against the wall, her right leg wrapped tight around his waist and desperately trying to keep her balance so he could go on thrusting in and out, in and out, until finally he would grunt with exertion, as if he'd stabbed her with a knife, and pull away for good.
After those times, Rue was always left sinking down to the floor – gracefully, as Father taught her – the black feathers of her bodice scattered on the carpet, her hair a mess and her basque ripped and exposing her to anyone who walked in. And she would think of what she had made of Mytho, and she would hate herself for enjoying someone who was not her prince. Even changing her clothes made her feel no better. Every time she became Kraehe, her tutu was as good as new, as if nothing had ever occurred. But she knew she was an awful girl inside.
It was worse when he was gentle with her. When he was gentle, Rue knew he must be thinking of something else; the next piece of his heart, perhaps, or Princess Tutu. When he was gentle, he would take her by the hand and lead her slowly to the bed. He would coax her into lying down so that he could stroke her skin; he would trace the lines of her white arms, he would skim the edge of her bodice to make her draw a sharp breath and then down her body to her thighs, caressing the soft inner skin and blowing lightly over her basque until the light cloth was wet with her juices. And then he would stop, waiting until her white skin was scarlet with shame and humiliation, and she begged him to make her come.
When she did, he would smile at her; pleased and sweet and affectionate, like her prince should, the smile he had only ever given Tutu. It made her stomach drop and the guilt in her heart would come near to overflowing, before it was overtaken by pleasure.
Afterwards, she was left with only the guilt, naked in Mytho's bed.
Once, only once, Rue asked, "Do you love me?"
He had rolled over to face her and smiled again, almost like he had before, only not quite, because here it was tainted with mockery. Princes did not love witches.
He didn't, in point of fact, say, "No". He didn't have to, for Rue was already dressing, fleeing out of his room with her blouse only half-buttoned. It didn't even matter if anyone saw her, because everyone knew Rue was a good girl.
She always did what her father told her to, after all.
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