Vaudeville and Vice

ACHE WITH ME

As with so many nights before, I take my position- in front of the window, totally naked.

I see my body reflected against the city outside. My teardrop breasts arch against the long, clean lines of buildings; my fingers stretch out like aerials; I breathe clouds. Fingertips pressed against the cold, unforgiving pane, I picture you on the street below. I picture you staring up at my form, my pale skin glowing against the encroaching evening.

I want you to see me like this. I want you to want to see me like this. I wonder if you ever have imagined me naked. Have you thought about me exposed? Have you thought about peeling away the fashionable, gauzy garments to reveal the bare truth of my naked flesh? I wonder how exact your reverie was- did you imagine my nipples were browner? My back less mottled with freckles? My arse a little rounder, perhaps?

I touch myself thinking about it. I make myself gasp thinking about you standing before me, fully clothed, confronting my nudity. I imagine you speechless, mouth agape, your eyes roaming over my whole form, taking in the details, committing the exact curves of my body to memory. I come thinking about you staring at me like that, overcome by your own lust. Because more than I need you, I need your desire for me. I want you to undress me with your eyes before you take off my clothes. I want you to stay up night after night as I have done, picturing me this way. I want you to think about me coming more than I want to come.

And I ache with it. I burn with it. My whole body fills with frustration, fills with the need for you to look at me the way other men do. But your cool detachment and steady gaze only make me want it more. The more distant you seem, the more I ache.

Ache with me. Please, ache with me.

(Source: yiorgosmavropoulos)

THE ARTIST, PART II- HIS

He sat, his pen dangling above the blank paper, with absolutely nothing coming to mind.

Except her. It felt like she had been pressing against his brain all day, smothering his creativity, stifling his joy in anything other than thinking of her. Any time he had tried to write since the other night, he had found himself consumed by the sensation of his arm around her shoulders. The way the cool silk of her blouse had felt under his fingertips. The way she had leaned into his touch, the way her eyes seemed to absorb him as she stared up at him, the pristine white of her wrists. To her, it may have been drunken friendliness, but to him it was a memory that would not leave his mind.

And yet, poetry would not come. A hefty amount of his juvenile efforts had been centred around romance and heartbreak, despite the protestations of his creative writing tutors. But he couldn’t think of a word to say about her. He tried to tell himself that the memory was too raw, too fresh to look at objectively. But he knew that usually, when he met a girl, even as he was talking to her he was conjuring up metaphors in his head. The way he could see himself in her pupils; the slick of red on her lips the exact shade of blood. Each woman for him was potential poetry. But not her. When he spoke to her, it felt like he wasn’t really thinking at all. In fact, he couldn’t fully recall any of their conversations; all he\ knew was that he spouted the usual banalities and probably came across as brain dead.

He told himself next time would be different. He would be charming, cool. He wouldn’t try too hard. He would see as just another piece of poetry, another metaphor.

One phrase occurred to him- her creamy white thighs. It was such a cliché, but that was all he could think about- her pearlescent thighs, and the way she tried to self-consciously pull her cut-off shorts over them when she spoke. Her creamy white thighs- pale, gleaming, inviting…

 He jolted at the knock on the door, and slammed his notebook shut instinctively. As he walked across the room, he ruffled his floppy hair- it was probably one of the boys, but you never knew…

Despite this thought, he was still surprised to see what was waiting for him on the other side of the door. Her. Leah. In nothing but a trench coat and heels, apparently.

‘Hello?’ was all he managed to say, his eyes fixed on her long, naked legs.

‘Hi. Oh God, this is nuts, isn’t it?’

‘Not at all’, he replied, ‘Come in’.  He didn’t know why- perhaps it was the scared look in her doe-like eyes- but he reached out for her hands, her perfect alabaster wrists. He could feel her pulse, and it was racing. He pulled her through the door.

‘What can I do for you?’

She didn’t respond. She just began to unbutton her trench coat. Each button revealed a little more of the body and lingerie beneath. The deep river of her cleavage between the cups of a black silk bra. The long, flat plain of her stomach, trailing down to black silk panties. The creamy white thighs,  encased in gauzy stockings.

‘Jesus,’ he murmured, moving closer towards her, lead by his own animal need. His hands cupped her face. Their first kiss was ferocious, the impassioned kiss of two people who have waited too long to have each other. He was surprised at her force- the intensity of her kiss, the strength with which she pushed him onto the bed and yanked his shirt off. She straddled him, feeling his erection bulging upwards from beneath her. She unclasped her bra as his kisses nuzzled into the arch of her pearlescent neck, down her shoulders, to her newly-exposed breasts. He took his time after her sudden rush of passion, drawing languid circles around her nipple with his tongue, before taking it into his mouth, sucking and flicking it, his own desire stoked by her moans.

‘I need you, I need you now…’

Her shaking hands moved for his jeans, unbuttoning his flies as he wriggled free. A flash of panic burst in her as he revealed his intimidatingly huge cock- would he be too big? But her own wanton hands reached for it anyway, working up and down the length of his shaft, her fingertips stroking the warm flesh of his balls. But she was not interested in foreplay- she had come here for one reason only, and that was to feel that immense shaft fill her waiting sex.

She directed his glans towards her pussy, pushing aside her silk knickers. They let out a collective sigh of delight as his tip kissed the slick, soaked folds of her cunt for the first time. She rubbed his cock back and forth against herself until his fingertips dug hard against her hips, needing more than anything for her to sink down onto him.

There was only slight resistance as her pussy enveloped his straining cock.

‘Jesus Christ, you’re so tight…’

She began to move, slowly at first, working up and down on his shaft. The sensation of his dick rubbing up and down against her G-spot was divine- never before had she felt so completely filled. She knew she wouldn’t take long to come, a thought only confirmed as his thumb moved to her clit He flicked her clit rapidly, beckoning her approaching orgasm. She began to bounce up and down on top of him with abandon, desperate to feel the blistering rush of pleasure.

‘Oh fuck yes! Oh fuck, I’m so close, so close…’

All alone in his apartment, she allowed herself to scream as she came. He bit into her shoulder blades to stop himself from coming as she squirted slightly, her warm juices coating his balls.

She trembled as they slowed the pace, his cock still inside her, grinding against each other slowly. She reached down to kiss him- a long, luxurious kiss. Her long hair fell down over him, clouding his vision, consuming him.

‘Make me come again, please, please…’

She barely had to ask before his hands were on her hips, moving her up and down at his pace. She contracted her pelvic muscles, squeezing him even further. His eyes were closed now- all he was aware of was his own cock, and her above him, around him, squeezing every last ounce of pleasure  out of him…

His hands moved to her back, seizing and lifting her. He pushed her up against the wall, the cold surface sending shivers down her back. Her hands scrambled against it. She bit her lip, noticing the way his muscles strained deliciously trying to keep her lifted.  She wrapped her legs tightly around him, and he entered her again- deeper than before, so that he was completely inside her, his balls lapping against her perfectly rounded ass. She let out a cry of pleasure, feeling her thighs against his pelvis, knowing she was being completely and utterly and totally filled. She felt her second climax brewing, so much more intense than the first. Every nerve ending scorched as she pressed herself against him whilst he thrust against her. She arched her back and cried out his name and pushed against the wall and every muscle in her body tensed, every inch of flesh flushed with blood and pleasure seared through her as the most intense orgasm soared through her, over her, into her. It seemed to last so much longer than a few seconds.

His pace was relentless as she came, feeling that familiar rush of wetness coat his groin. He was going to come, and he was going to come hard. He watched her above him, splayed against the wall, breathlessly rasping his name, her pendulous breasts bouncing as he thrust harder and harder against her, trembling violently from the ferocity of her own orgasm.

She could sense he was close, as the arm supporting her began to shake. She clenched his dick inside her as hard as she could, and whispered, ‘Come for me. Please, please, come inside me.’

She felt the familiar surge of warmth between her legs, the molten liquid pouring inside of her, coating her already slick pussy.

He stumbled backwards, still carrying her, and fell on the bed, panting, flushed, sweating, utterly spent. Looking down at him beneath her, completely naked with his arms splayed, she could think of a multitude of things she wanted to do to him- to kiss her way down his toned abdomen, to taste herself on his enormous member. But, she didn’t- instead, she composed herself, replaced her bra and trench coat, and coolly sauntered out of his apartment.

‘See you soon,’ she called back at him.

DON’T MOVE

Suddenly, a hand clasps over her mouth.

‘Don’t move,’ instructs her captor.

Static surges through her veins as she realises: I know that voice. The man whose body has plagued her thoughts all day is pressed to her back. The hands whose touch she has craved cup her mouth and waist. His breath whispers through the tendrils of her hair and bares down upon the delicate flesh of her neck.

Her breathing intensifies; he can feel it against the palm of his hand.

‘Now, if you’re a good girl, and do as I say, I’ll reward you adequately. If you choose to disobey me’- he lets out a guttural laugh-‘Well, let’s just say you may not like the consequences. Do you understand?’

Fear and anticipation mingle deliciously in her stomach. She nods.

‘Good girl. Now, hold still.’

She moans dejectedly as his hands leave her body. The next thing she sees is a silk scarf as it comes down over her eyes. Suddenly, darkness. The material is soft and cool as she feels him secure it around the back of her head. Next, cold metal encircles her wrists, binding them together.

She feels his hands trace wanton lines from her back to her front as he revolves around her, drinking her in from every angle. His fingers entwine in her hair as her rewards her pliancy with a long, indulgent kiss. Their lips fuse in molten passion, moving harmoniously, tongues enmeshing with sheer unadulterated desire. Instinctively, her hands reach for him, needing to feel the hot flesh that she fantasised about for so long- yet the handcuffs prevent her. All the while, his strong arms bind him to her, allowing her to feel his erection throbbing against her abdomen.

He moves to nuzzle the alabaster flesh of her neck- each kiss and bite against that most delicate crook sends shocks straight through her.

‘Please, please…’ she hears herself cry, yet she knows not what she is begging for.

Cold air assaults her skin as the buttons on her shirt come undone. She can faintly feel his hands fumbling with the fabric, and the occasional button springing free as he literally tears her clothes off. The skirt, by comparison, is a much easier task- as soon as the zip is yanked down, she can feel the material pooling at her feet.

She knows he is staring at her, taking every inch of her in. She wonders where his eyes are drawn first- to her long, lithe legs, encased in stockings? To her pink areolas, visible through the crimson lace of her bra? To her lack of panties?

She feels wetness flood between her thighs as his warm breath coils in her ear:

‘God, you’re beautiful.’

She is roughly forced to her knees. A smile curls on her full, red lips as she feels a familiar organ pressed to her cheek.

‘You know what to do,’ he grunts.

She needs no further invitation. Her tongue has already found his balls, licking them slowly, coating them in warm, wet liquid with her talented tongue. She revels in taking her time as her tongue journeys slowly up his shaft. She flicks the tip, and smiles upon hearing him shiver.

She takes the first inch or so into her mouth. She’s toying with him, teasing him- it infuriates him. She works backwards and forwards, infinitely slowly, her tongue weaving around his tumescent cock.

He can’t take any more. Sensing a lack of control, he thrusts forward until her nose is against his pubic bone. From previous heated conversations, he knows about her deep throating abilities- but nothing could prepare him for the sensation of having every inch of his cock encased by the wet recesses of her mouth.

‘Fuck!’

Sensing his urgency, she begins to work back and forth rapidly, sucking with all of might, her head twisting this way and that, her magic tongue spiralling around his dick.

‘Oh Jesus fucking Christ!’- he’s cupping her face, stroking her hair. He’s trying desperately not to come, but it feels like all of the blood in his body is surging towards the end of his shaft, towards her, as if every fibre of his being needs to close to her.

He looks down at her; bound, blindfolded, worshipping his cock with reckless abandon. Her spectacular breasts bounce invitingly in their lacy bindings, and her naked ass is visible as she takes his entire length in her mouth.

God, what a sight- he waits for the white hot point of no return…

… And suddenly, nothing. He practically cries in anguish. Her tongue has returned to slowly lapping and sucking at his balls. Despite this most delicate of ministrations, he still trembles, desperate to come in that dirty little mouth.

The hands that cradled her face before force it back towards his dick. He thrusts against her maniacally, his dick now once again sheathed between her perfect lips. He cannot fail to hear her carnal moan at being used in such a way.

Against his better judgement, his mind is flooded with images of his cock buried deep inside her pussy, not her mouth; of their sweat-drenched limbs entwined; of her screaming his name over and over again.

She groans as his pearly semen coats her throat- the perfect reward for her ardour.

He stumbles away, muttering her name in between ragged breaths. She feels a hand on her chin, gently tilting her face up, as something cold brushes her bottom lip.

‘Here, drink this’- the cool liquid courses down her throat. As he withdraws the glass, his lips crash down upon hers, his passion and gratitude more than apparent in his fervent kiss. His hands and lips roam freely across her exposed skin, mottled with goose bumps. Her reverie had often been filled by the simple notion of his lips against her skin. But, thanks to the blindfold, the actual sensation was more intense than she could ever possibly have imagined.

By the time he scoops her into his arms and places her on the bed, her pussy is slick with wetness. She feels him kissing a molten trail of desire straight down her front, inching ever closer to her waiting sex. Yet, when he reaches it, his languid kisses begin to trail down her thigh. Every muscle in her body clenches under the assault of his teasing.

She lets out her first gasp of pleasure as his hand cups her cunt through the silk thong. Even him massaging her through her lingerie sends waves of pleasure through her- she can’t see what he is doing, she can only feel his hand stroking up and down against her. She realises she is completely at his mercy, and she adores the sensation.

He begins to draw her thong down her thighs, his lips following the material downwards. As he kisses his way back up her long, pearly white legs, she is practically screaming in frustration.

Finally, she feels the delicious sensation of his hot breath against his pussy. He is done with teasing; his tongue assaults her with every move in his artillery. He sucks on her clit, his hands on her back as she arches upwards towards his glorious mouth. He begins to lick, jolts of pleasure coursing through her with every rapid flick from his tongue. His tongue swirls around her waiting whole as his thumb rubs her clit. She is moaning with abandon now, the combined sensation of his tongue and hands too much to keep to herself. His tongue returns its attention to pink clit, swollen and slick with her juices. His fingers are inside her now, working back and forth, her bucking hips meeting him with every stroke.

‘Uh, yes, finger fuck me yes…’

She can feel the vibrations of him moaning against her pussy, and knows she is close to coming, every nerve ending in her body alight with this undeniable pleasure. Just as the waves of rapture begin to crest, she feels his fingers curve inside her, finding her G-Spot. She screams, parting her legs as far as they will go, delighting with the sensation of being utterly filled.  

‘Come for me.’

‘Oh God, I’m going to come, I’m going to come so hard…’

Fingernails bite into the mattress and her legs tremble as orgasm overwhelms her. He moans again, his cock roused by her cries of pleasure and her breasts heaving with ragged breath.

‘Oh my God,’ she pants.  

(Source: whatsondomsmind)

THUS FROM MY LIPS, BY YOURS, MY SIN IS PURGED- PART I

I couldn’t help but get excited as I sat outside his office. Along the corridor, sociology students waited to see their tutors- so far as they knew, I was just another one of them. After all, how could they possibly have guessed that I was an English student, here for far much more than just a discussion about an essay?

*

It has been six days since he uttered those immortal words to me: ‘Excuse me Miss, I think your nose is bleeding?’

I was on such a high from the concert, I had failed to notice the scarlet slick on my upper lip. ‘Oh shit, thanks.’

‘It looks pretty nasty,’ he continued, ‘I think you should maybe get that looked at.’

‘Thanks for the advice, but I’m not trekking 45 minutes to A and E just so they can put a plaster on my nose.’

He sighed, exasperated- ‘You really should get that looked at. I’ll drive, if you need me to.’

‘Shit, what happened to your nose?!’ my friend Johnny shouted, elbowing his way through the crowd towards us.

‘No idea, I guess I must’ve-’

‘Hey, Professor McKinnon! I thought I might see you here tonight’, Jonathan interrupted.

‘Of course,’ the stranger replied, ‘I fucking love these guys, I’ve been raving about them since I first heard their demo. Do you know this bleeding woman?’

‘Yeah, this is my housemate Rosie. Rosie, this is Professor McKinnon, my lecturer I was telling you about?’

‘Ooh, you’re the Impact of Music on Culture guy? I’ve heard only good things.’ I couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous he was as he blushed at my compliment.

‘Thanks- but seriously, A and E? Like, now?’

‘Fine, if it’ll make you feel better. Johnny, you coming?’

‘Think I might stick around here for a bit- the bassist from the support act was totally eyefucking me-’ he leaned in close and whispered; ‘But not quite as much as you’re eyefucking my lecturer, you absolute whore!’

‘Alright, see you around Johnny,’ I said as I slapped him on the back a little too hard.

I could not take my eyes off of him for the entire car journey, or when he gallantly sat with me in A and E. He was exactly my type- dark hair, dark eyes, broad. He was still covered with a light sheen of sweat from the concert, and his black T-shirt was plastered to his thick body.

‘So, a girl who enjoys mosh pits- you don’t see enough of them around these days.’

‘I don’t understand why- I love going completely mental at concerts. It’s such a release!’ I try to ignore the fact my voice is obscured by a large wad of tissue catching my blood, ‘Ugh, this is so embarrassing, I’m so sorry about this.’

‘Don’t worry, it happens to us all,’ he smiles, and the urge to fuck him increases sharply. ‘When I was 20, I lost two toenails at Reading. Nasty stuff.’

‘Fuck,’ I reply lamely, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, exactly how long ago was that?’

He laughs- that smile again, my God- and says: ‘I’m twenty three.’

‘Really? How are you already a Professor?’

‘Technically I’m not, but I’m a PhD student who shadows Johnny’s actual tutor. Alot of the students come to see me more than they do the guy I’m shadowing though. I didn’t mean for that to sound boastful, it’s just he lectures on the impact of classical music on culture- I mean, I love that stuff, but obviously some students would much rather hear about punk and post hardcore, which I completely get.’

‘It sounds really interesting- I’m basing part of my creative writing dissertation on the works of La Dispute.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Their lyrics are so much better than alot of modern poetry, I don’t think my tutor has twigged they’re a screamo band yet though.’

The nurse comes into the booth to tell me it’s not broken, and puts a butterfly stitch over a cut I didn’t even know I had. Whilst she’s doing this, I notice his dark, coffee-coloured eyes don’t leave me once. Nerves and excitement mingle in my stomach as we get back into the car, the conversations barbed with suggestion continuing all of the way home. It is only outside my house I think to inspect my face in the overhead mirror-

‘Jesus!’

‘I told you you needed medical attention.’

‘Why is my nose black?! It looks totally disgusting.’

‘Relax, I still would,’ he says in a joking tone, but the way his eyes are boring into mine suggest he is far from joking. He looks away embarrassed, but my hands are already on his neck, moving instinctively, beyond my control. Our foreheads press together; perfectly innocent, devastatingly intimate.

His lips are on mine. It’s a revelation every time they touch. Soft undulations, our breath harmonious, parting and converging like waves. My fingernails trail downwards, biting into his shoulder blades. His hands follow the sleek river of my hair down my back, my spine arching into him revelling in this secret, precious moment. I grasp his bottom lip between my teeth, nibbling gently, and he lets out the softest moan, making me shiver with desire.

He pulls away, slowly, gasping. ‘Is this not hurting you?’

‘No, the codeine must’ve kicked in fast. Do you want to come inside?’

‘I don’t think it’s the best idea’- I don’t even try to hide my look of disappointment- ‘Bleeding and drugged is not usually how I like my women. Look, take my card- swing by my office some time, we can talk La Dispute.’

I take the card from him wordlessly. He curls his fingers around mine.

‘I mean it,’ he says, ‘Come see me. Please.’

*

‘Miss Abbot?’

I get up and walked toward his office, not knowing what to expect.

To be continued…

THE ARTIST, PT.1- HERS

She got a strange sort of pleasure from situations like this. Even though the sky was dark and the only light came from the canopy of Christmas lights overhead, the city centre was still swarming with people frantically buying gifts. She loved to be in this throng of people, feel strangers brush past her- catching the eyes of some of them, wondering what they saw. She liked the fact that beyond her physical state- short, blonde, shopping alone- they had no clue what she was up to. And, in truth, neither did she.

As she meandered absent-mindedly through the narrow rows of shops, she couldn’t help but think of him. A shirt in the window might’ve been his; he would’ve appreciated that row of leather-bound notebooks. Whenever she thought of him, she pictured him at his desk, pen in hand- his art was what identified him. Although she was never allowed to read his notebooks, he had privileged her with a few pieces of his work on his laptop. He had told her they were song lyrics, but she knew them to be poetry. She was in love with how the words flowed; she would allow herself to whisper her favourite lines to herself, later, alone. She loved the way those innocuous words, words she had used a thousand times before, suddenly had meaning and importance. And, although she didn’t know him half as well as she’d have liked to, she couldn’t help but imagine one of the blondes in his songs was in fact her.

She drifted out of her reverie just as she came to stand in front of a lingerie boutique. Admiring the gauzy negligees in the window, she thought how strange it was that somebody was going to buy those- that lilac bra was going to encase a stranger’s body, and most likely be carefully removed by another wanton stranger. In the reflection of the window, her body was perfectly reflected in that of the mannequins’ if she squinted hard enough, she could that bra on herself. Before entering the boutique, she glanced around at the passers-by again, delighting in the fact they had no idea what she was about to do.

In the shop, she inhaled the scent of new fabric, allowing her fingers to trail over satin, velvet, gauze and lace. One particular set caught her eye- basque, pants and stockings- and before she could let the usual embarrassment set in, she was striding into the changing room.

She took her tag off the changing room attendant, and selected the cubicle furthest from the exit. She pulled the heavy red curtain closed, and laid her potential purchase out on the gold-legged stool. A blast of cold air hit her naked shoulders as she peeled off her trench coat and jumper, only heightened by the removal of her jeans. She stood in front of the gilt-framed mirror in her plain, white underwear, inspecting her curvaceous figure. Although she knew she shouldn’t try the knickers on until later, she had to sate her curiosity. She got fully naked, sliding on the lace pants first- the delicate material brushed against her thighs deliciously as she pulled them up. Next, she squeezed into the basque, noticing immediately how the curved transparent side panels emphasised her hourglass figure. The plunge bra showed her full cleavage, right down to the bottom of her breasts. The stockings served only to accentuate her already long, lithe legs.

She couldn’t help but admire the effect, and soon her mind drifted back to what he might think seeing her like this. Although there was chemistry there, they only had a couple of creative writing lectures together, and she doubted he had thought of her beyond being the quiet, friendly girl who took alot of notes. If he were to see her like this, it would be impossible to think of her in such a way. She imagined bursting into his flat, a place she had only previously been for drinks before nights out. She could envision all too clearly unbuttoning her coat, revealing only the lingerie beneath. She wondered what his reaction would be- shock? Excitement? Against her better judgement, she began to touch herself, imagining his lascivious eyes taking in every inch of her body. What started off as languid circles around her clitoris soon became rapid strokes as she thought of him touching her, exploring her body. In her mind, he was kissing her back, carefully unclasping each hook on the basque, kissing each bit of skin as it was exposed. When it was undone, he would push her roughly over his desk, so that her breasts kissed the cool wood. Then, her upturned ass raised to him, he would tease her- begin to stroke her only at first through her panties, soon sliding them aside to stroke her, pushing his fingers inside of her, rubbing her G-Spot and smiling to himself as her stocking-clad legs began to tremble with desire. Her own fingers reached inside as she imagined him kneeling down, his head between her thighs, licking her wet pussy with wanton abandon. He would lick her with painfully slow, rhythmic strokes- there, bent over, her pussy offered to him, she knew he would be in control, to tease her as she wished. As her pace increased, she imagined him hastening, his tongue rapidly flicking against her clit as his fingers went back to exploring her pussy. She clasped her hand over her mouth, praying the shop assistant wouldn’t hear as she continued to think about him between her splayed legs, worshipping her cunt, eagerly devouring her as he coaxed her closer and closer to orgasm. She was aware she was moaning, but she couldn’t help herself- her body was awash with the sensation of what she was doing to herself, but also with all of the things he could do to her. She could almost feel the vibration of him moaning into her pussy, aroused by her cries of passion. As her body filled with all-consuming heat, she imagined him whispering ‘Come for me,’-she sighed and gasped and pulsed and released, all for him.

Hands shaking, breath ragged, she removed the lingerie- all but the now sopping-wet knickers, which she left on. Replacing her day clothes and smoothing down her hair, she stuffed her white cotton panties into one of her shopping bags. Upon her exit, the shop assistant gave her a curious look- ‘I thought you had 3 items?’

‘What? Erm no, j-just these two’, she stammered, acutely aware of her flushed her face was.

Outside of the shop, her purchases in a gaudy pink paper bag, she knew where she was headed- to his.

(Source: bejealousimbulgarian)