[ each word is accompanied, of course, by a picture-pristine memory. putting words in my mouth translates too easily to i want your cock, not just your fingers; tying me up, and he's thinking about the way she looked, back arched and ass in his lap, the way her nipples had stood out, exquisite flushed peaks highlighted by the way the ropes had sectioned off her body. she's talking about the marking, he's thinking about his teeth in her neck, the rough dig of his fingers in her hips—he'd bet money that she couldn't look at them later without thinking of him, how good it had been to be held up, fucked hard, put away wet—
his throat is dry. he swallows hard, pupils blown, eyes on her face. his cock is painfully hard; he can't keep thinking of that night, the way she'd felt around him, without almost losing it already.
and even then, his mouth twists again. ]
And what happens if I'm not.
[ because it wasn't his fault, technically—no one told her to go in there, and she should've known what to expect. that stephen, in his condition, wasn't inclined to be generous for any reason other than his own voyeuristic pleasure. ]
[Oh, she'd so hoped he'd be stubborn like this. Rosalind rises, heading over to her nightstand, her back to him. Let him stare at her ass for a few moments; it's only going to make things worse for him.]
Well, then, Stephen . . .
[Whatever she'd gotten is held tight in the palm of her hand, hidden from view. She crawls over him, her free hand sliding eagerly over his bare torso, nails dragging lightly just to leave little marks. She catches him in a swift kiss, eager if not closed-mouth, savoring the taste of him even as she reaches back blindly. She'd done this with Akande; it takes only a little bit of groping . . . not there, but there, and there's such a satisfying little click as the ring snaps securely around the base of his cock.
She pulls back, nipping at his bottom lip, her eyes glittering and her mouth deliciously reddened.]
I suppose you'll simply have to suffer.
[And he will suffer. Rosalind shifts, settling between his legs. A coy look upwards, and then she tugs at her top, pulling buttons free and shedding it neatly. She's left in a lacy bra, and in some ways that's more alluring than if she'd shed it. It's a tease without satisfaction, a hint of her breasts without ever giving him the full view. They look good in this bra, hoisted up and so full, nipples hardened and straining at the fabric-- she looks good, she knows, and she looks even better as she bows over him and wraps her pretty lips tight around the head of his cock.]
[ as soon as rosalind steps away to head for her nightstand stephen's already watching her hungrily, eyes glued again to the sway of her hips.
the kiss that follows when she returns is good, though it isn't an ample enough distraction. he cranes his head up eagerly into it and tries to deepen it, succeeds at least somewhat in licking his way back in her mouth. the taste of her kiss floods his senses, rich and intoxicating; his hands pull against the cuffs, his back arching off the bed, his head turning so he can mouth hungrily at her jaw—and then the click happens, and he stiffens. ]
What the hell do you think you're doing?
[ the most coherent he's been since he's arrived with the tight grip of the cockring pushing some of that blood forcibly back to his brain. the new pressure on his cock is almost unbearable, the shaft flushed dark and aching with need. he tugs harder against the cuffs, snarls, and then rosalind's gorgeous full lips are on his cock, hot and tight amid all that pressure. ]
Fuck. God. Are you fucking kidding me—
[ if he had his head on straight stephen, who is rarely given to direct vulgarity and even forays far into arcane speech, would probably find this deeply déclassé. stephen doesn't have his head on straight; he has a vise on his dick and rosalind sucking up the beading precome on the head—her skin, her tits under that lacy bra, everything he so desperately needs just out of reach. ]
[It takes everything in her not to laugh, but she's enjoying herself too much to stop things right when they start. For all he's insufferable (and that's a big for all), Rosalind really does enjoy his body on a purely physical level. His cock is fantastically large, big and thick and such a pleasure to play with. He hadn't been wrong, she does want to sit on it again, never mind feel him bending her in half and pounding into her.
So she very much enjoys what she's doing right now, as her lips wrap firm around the head of his cock and she ducks her head down. There's real sincerity in the way she moans as his cock fills her mouth, heavy heat on her tongue, arousal already spilling down her throat; one hand even darts back, slipping beneath her skirt to tease at herself through her panties. She's content like that for a long minute: rubbing at her clit, bobbing down, letting the head of his cock nudge against her throat again and again in blatant temptation. She doesn't know if he's watching, but he ought to be; what a sight this is, with her breasts poised and her mouth all reddened and swollen.
But nothing good lasts. Her fingers grip the base of his prick, keeping him still, letting her take her time in how she draws back and slides her tongue just beneath the head, teasing him obscenely well.]
Poor Stephen . . .
[She purrs it out, smirking up at him.]
You know what you have to say, sweetness.
Or, well. What you have to say, yes, but how you have to say it, too. I shan't accept something half-assed.
[Her fingers release him, dropping to slide over his hip instead. His prick looks agonizingly hard, aching for release; she smiles as she exhales, hot breath against wet skin, her nails scratching his hip.]
I know you know how to be good, Stephen. You were so eager to wring it out of me, after all.
[ he almost doesn't hear the words, his eyes wild and set on rosalind's mouth on his cock, the sway of her breasts as she bends over him, the way she rubs herself over the lace of her panties. the sensations come too readily with memories: the way her cunt had felt around his throbbing cock, the way she'd smelled that night, it all flickers in and out of his head, an agonizing accompaniment to the present. he's overheated, his cock feels like it could've burst ages ago, maybe even from the minute she put her mouth on his dick.
she's too good at this. that's part of why really does appreciate her. there'd been finesse in everything she did for him that night, the way she'd ridden cock, came moaning on his lap. he wants more, wants to see what else she's capable of. wants to push her as hard as he did that night and then some, soak the sheets in here with her pleasure.
but even then, he doesn't beg, has almost never done it a day in his life. and he's almost visibly loath to start now, even hard and pained as he is. ]
Rosalind.
[ it's not good enough, he knows it's not good enough. he grits his teeth, tries to arch up into her touch on his hip instead, briefly caging the words he needs to say in his throat—just not far back enough. ]
[It's an indulgent inquiry, sadistic in its soft innocence, as she glances up at him, her eyes so wide and her expression so eager. Obedient, he'd called her last time. His pretty girl, his indulgent slut, his perfect little toy . . . well, if he wants that, why shouldn't he have it? Here, now, with her lips still wrapped around him, tongue dragging eagerly over the underside, her fingers working more intently.
Soon enough she breaks his gaze, though-- but only to duck down, taking him as far down as she can manage (not entirely, not yet, but more than the first pass, he's so big, fucking hell), whimpering as she does. As though she simply can't help but suck his cock; as though nothing, nothing could be better for her than tending to him.
She's really quite enjoying herself.
But ah, ah, he'd called for it, and for be it for her not to respond. That wouldn't be good, would it? Oh, no. She draws herself up slowly, letting him watch the agonizing sight of his prick slowly slipping past her wet lips, until at last only sticky strands of precome and saliva connect them-- and then nothing at all, as she pants harshly, her mouth wet and swollen, and stares at him.[
What is it?
[She has never looked so innocent and so sadistic all at once.]
[ it's too much, the velvet glide of her lips back up his length and then her eyes staring at him bright and wide from her flushed face. his jaw is clenched, teeth grinding without his express awareness of them.
he knows there's only one thing between him and getting what he wants, which is her pink pretty mouth back on his cock, and then the sweet grip of her pussy. any resolve he might have had in a better condition feels like wet sand in his head, crumbling and indistinct. stephen is stubborn and proud even on his worst days, but right now he's little better than a bundle of nerves.
his eyes with their blown pupils linger on her face longest, even though there's so much else to look at: the curve of her hips in the way she sits, her peaked nipples under the lace of her bra. there's nowhere he doesn't want to put his cock; nothing, he realizes, he wants more—finally, finally, he pulls hard at the cuffs, the metal clanking hard against the bedpost— ]
Fuck. [ the word a raw spill out of his throat. ] Sorry. I'm sorry, god, just—
[ how many times has stephen strange apologized in his life? the answer will not surprise you. and yet there's perfect, desperate need in his voice, an audio accompaniment to his painful erection, the hot flush in his neck. ] Please.
Oh, Stephen . . . what a good boy you can be, if only you're motivated properly.
[She's impressed, honestly. She'd have thought she'd have to ruin at least one orgasm before he thought of begging . . . hm. Maybe overdosing him on those aphrodisiacs has some side-effects after all. She strokes her fingers up his cock thoughtfully, a quick glide just to feel it throb, before she crawls up his body. What a sight that is, with her breasts swaying and her body arching up, lined up eagerly with his own.
Her expression is so sweet, and she noses against his jawline, her hands bracing on his bare chest. She's smiling as she looks up at him. Hovers over him, kisses him gently (and pulls back when he tries to make it deeper). And she's smiling as she murmurs:]
[ everything she does captivates for a moment longer than it reasonably should, moments slipping clumsily into one another. when she crawls over him he arches up again, eager to meet the sinuous curves of her body with his own, feel the brush of her tits over his skin; under her hands on his chest his heart is pounding. even the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones as she smiles up at him feels worthy of overattention, makes him want to kiss her even more—makes the moment where she does kiss him all the more intoxicating and all the more torturous for its brevity.
when she pulls away stephen makes an outraged noise, and then another when the word finally sinks in, slow as a stone in marsh. ]
[Her face is gleeful, almost obscenely so, her eyes alight, only barely biting back a grin. She'd known this moment would feel good, but oh, god, it's better than any orgasm . . . look at him, look how furious he is, and she does laugh then, quiet and delighted, as pleased as a child on Christmas.]
No.
[She leans back, hands flat on his chest, perching above him. It's a nice pose for him, actually, her breasts pushed up and on display, her back arched, but she doubts he's looking. She doubts he's thinking of anything but how furious he is right now.]
Did you think it would be that easy? You put me through an hour of humiliation. You apologized, and I accept . . . but you're going to have to wait a little longer before you get to come.
[She climbs off him, settling down on the bed. She angles herself so she's in easy sight of him, where he can look and look and look without having to move an inch. Isn't that nice of her? Nicer still: the way she finally undresses. Her skirt is first, her bra (and she shivers when that comes off, can't resist running her fingers against herself, teasing over one peaked nipple, fuck), and then her panties-- and oh, of course she's wet. She's dripping, obscenely so, wet enough that she could slide right on him if she felt like it. Just spread her legs and sink down atop him, fuck herself on him, ride him til she was screaming again--
Not that she will.
But she could.
She reaches over the side of the bed, and of course there's a few toys there. A vibrator, small and discreet, and a dildo, decidedly neither of those things. It's big, almost obscenely so, thick and long, and she groans softly as she nudges the head against her entrance.
Let him watch. Let him see what he could have had, if only he'd been better behaved. Rosalind leans back, her eyes hooded, and moans softly as she pushes the toy forward, fucking herself with it slowly, letting it spread her open and leave her panting, throbbing around it, getting it slick with her own arousal. She pushes it in again and again, til at last it hits home, and fuck, but that feels good-- she moans, her head tipping back, as she draws it out and fucks herself properly with it, quick and hard, slick noises filling the air between them.]
[ just as torturous is the flare-up of wild hope when she says i accept, likes yes, finally, he'll get to fuck her, get this stupid ring off and lose himself in that body. but then she keeps talking, words which take their sweet time filtering into his addled brain as the threat they are; he can only stare, blown pupils and furious betrayed eyes, as rosalind settles across from him on the bed—a perfect view, every view of her is perfect, that's probably just the drugs talking— ]
Wh—
[ when she takes the dildo out of the drawer he actually snarls, bucking against the handcuffs, like he'd murder it if it were a person. it's possible by now he's forgotten that he can actually do magic to escape, he's so fogged up.
and then, oh god, it's sliding inside her, a too sweet and easy stretch. he's breathing hard as he watches, his cock aching, so hard it hurts. too vivid to just be fantasy, the thought of how hot and wet her pussy would be, doing all that pretty throbbing around his cock. when she starts to speed up he's pretty sure he's just going to die, actually. ]
Ros— [ it's not an affectation—stephen doesn't ever shorten her name—just his speech continuing to fail him for once, dry parched throat when the rest of him is damp with sweat. he swallows hard, for the hundredth time, and it only makes him think about how good it would be to shove his tongue where that plastic is, quench his thirst on all that sopping wet. ] Rosalind. [ like a plea, and then with frustrated resignation, another furious clatter of the handcuffs— ] Fuck.
[It won't take long, not when she's nearly as keyed up as he is. Each snarl, each desperate little gasp, each time he reacts and stares up at her in mingled desire and fury, leaves her trembling in the best possible way. Her wrist snaps faster, and she finally reaches for the vibrator, gasping as she turns it on (the lowest setting, of course, she's not nearly used to them) and sets it against her clit.]
Perhaps I'll just leave you here.
[She says it breathlessly, her voice trembling, and yet there's still steel in her gaze.]
All tied up for me, helpless to do anything but bow to my whims and hope that I'll be kind . . . just lying here, waiting for me to use you again in a few hours. All nice and hard for me, ready to be ridden, ready to be used by me, for me . . . you'd love that, wouldn't you, Stephen?
[She has more to say (she always has more to say), but that, it seems, is the last she can speak. Within a few seconds she's leaning back, falling against the bed as she arches herself up. Her hips snap up, and fuck, but it's a good orgasm: she tightens around the toy a fair few times, thrusting it up shamelessly in her, writhing a little as she rides it out.
He's still aching beside her. But for her, at least, it's quiet. Her heart thumps in her ears, and she pants up at the ceiling for a few moments. She tugs the dildo out with a wince, turning the vibrator off. She sits up, staring down at him with hazy eyes.]
Look at you.
[She says it smugly. It's not the gradiose things of before, but rather a spoiled child's triumph, utterly befitting this game of theirs. Shifting, she straddles him once more-- and then, kindly, reaches forward, tugging at his handcuffs. Why not? No matter what he does, she's won. And there's almost no chance he won't throw her down and fuck her til he comes in her, but that's not such a bad thing.]
[ it's difficult to overstate how much stephen would. even with his dick aching like it'll legitimately strain, with his heart ready to explode out of his chest, the images flood in as readily as her words do: him pinned to this damn bed for hours and hours, agonizingly hard the whole time, only to know relief now and then. not complete relief, either, not with the cockring on, but just her using him for her own pleasure—riding him until she's had her fill, just like she's fucking herself with that toy.
when she comes his dick jerks in the ring, aching and near-helpless. ]
Fuck.
[ wearied, his voice raw. through the red haze of the drugs there's a thread of something he knows he'll feel in force later, that rare prickle of what he knows to be humiliation. he's usually good at suppressing it, at not feeling it at all.
when she straddles him he's still not above leaning up, trying to get at her mouth, her collarbones, any skin he can touch with his mouth. the click of the handcuffs comes as that last and best surprise—
and then he's gripping her wrist, twisting to push her under him, reaching down to snap off the cockring with such a rush of relief it's almost unbearable. ]
I can't fucking believe you. [ but it's not real outrage, maybe incredulity, as he shoves her legs apart—
slides his cock in, where she's so yielding and wet from the dildo, fuck. ]
[She's laughing in giddy delight as he flips them over, leaning up to crashing their mouths together in a messy kiss. His cock slides home, fitting so nicely into her, far better than the dildo could ever be. One leg wraps around his hips, and she falls back, lying against the mattress, smirking up at him.]
It's no less-- nn-- no less than you deserve--
[She tips her head back, her hands coming up over her head, a mocking imitation of submission.]
S-someday-- someday I'll do that, all that, to you, I promise you--
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his throat is dry. he swallows hard, pupils blown, eyes on her face. his cock is painfully hard; he can't keep thinking of that night, the way she'd felt around him, without almost losing it already.
and even then, his mouth twists again. ]
And what happens if I'm not.
[ because it wasn't his fault, technically—no one told her to go in there, and she should've known what to expect. that stephen, in his condition, wasn't inclined to be generous for any reason other than his own voyeuristic pleasure. ]
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Well, then, Stephen . . .
[Whatever she'd gotten is held tight in the palm of her hand, hidden from view. She crawls over him, her free hand sliding eagerly over his bare torso, nails dragging lightly just to leave little marks. She catches him in a swift kiss, eager if not closed-mouth, savoring the taste of him even as she reaches back blindly. She'd done this with Akande; it takes only a little bit of groping . . . not there, but there, and there's such a satisfying little click as the ring snaps securely around the base of his cock.
She pulls back, nipping at his bottom lip, her eyes glittering and her mouth deliciously reddened.]
I suppose you'll simply have to suffer.
[And he will suffer. Rosalind shifts, settling between his legs. A coy look upwards, and then she tugs at her top, pulling buttons free and shedding it neatly. She's left in a lacy bra, and in some ways that's more alluring than if she'd shed it. It's a tease without satisfaction, a hint of her breasts without ever giving him the full view. They look good in this bra, hoisted up and so full, nipples hardened and straining at the fabric-- she looks good, she knows, and she looks even better as she bows over him and wraps her pretty lips tight around the head of his cock.]
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the kiss that follows when she returns is good, though it isn't an ample enough distraction. he cranes his head up eagerly into it and tries to deepen it, succeeds at least somewhat in licking his way back in her mouth. the taste of her kiss floods his senses, rich and intoxicating; his hands pull against the cuffs, his back arching off the bed, his head turning so he can mouth hungrily at her jaw—and then the click happens, and he stiffens. ]
What the hell do you think you're doing?
[ the most coherent he's been since he's arrived with the tight grip of the cockring pushing some of that blood forcibly back to his brain. the new pressure on his cock is almost unbearable, the shaft flushed dark and aching with need. he tugs harder against the cuffs, snarls, and then rosalind's gorgeous full lips are on his cock, hot and tight amid all that pressure. ]
Fuck. God. Are you fucking kidding me—
[ if he had his head on straight stephen, who is rarely given to direct vulgarity and even forays far into arcane speech, would probably find this deeply déclassé. stephen doesn't have his head on straight; he has a vise on his dick and rosalind sucking up the beading precome on the head—her skin, her tits under that lacy bra, everything he so desperately needs just out of reach. ]
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So she very much enjoys what she's doing right now, as her lips wrap firm around the head of his cock and she ducks her head down. There's real sincerity in the way she moans as his cock fills her mouth, heavy heat on her tongue, arousal already spilling down her throat; one hand even darts back, slipping beneath her skirt to tease at herself through her panties. She's content like that for a long minute: rubbing at her clit, bobbing down, letting the head of his cock nudge against her throat again and again in blatant temptation. She doesn't know if he's watching, but he ought to be; what a sight this is, with her breasts poised and her mouth all reddened and swollen.
But nothing good lasts. Her fingers grip the base of his prick, keeping him still, letting her take her time in how she draws back and slides her tongue just beneath the head, teasing him obscenely well.]
Poor Stephen . . .
[She purrs it out, smirking up at him.]
You know what you have to say, sweetness.
Or, well. What you have to say, yes, but how you have to say it, too. I shan't accept something half-assed.
[Her fingers release him, dropping to slide over his hip instead. His prick looks agonizingly hard, aching for release; she smiles as she exhales, hot breath against wet skin, her nails scratching his hip.]
I know you know how to be good, Stephen. You were so eager to wring it out of me, after all.
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[ he almost doesn't hear the words, his eyes wild and set on rosalind's mouth on his cock, the sway of her breasts as she bends over him, the way she rubs herself over the lace of her panties. the sensations come too readily with memories: the way her cunt had felt around his throbbing cock, the way she'd smelled that night, it all flickers in and out of his head, an agonizing accompaniment to the present. he's overheated, his cock feels like it could've burst ages ago, maybe even from the minute she put her mouth on his dick.
she's too good at this. that's part of why really does appreciate her. there'd been finesse in everything she did for him that night, the way she'd ridden cock, came moaning on his lap. he wants more, wants to see what else she's capable of. wants to push her as hard as he did that night and then some, soak the sheets in here with her pleasure.
but even then, he doesn't beg, has almost never done it a day in his life. and he's almost visibly loath to start now, even hard and pained as he is. ]
Rosalind.
[ it's not good enough, he knows it's not good enough. he grits his teeth, tries to arch up into her touch on his hip instead, briefly caging the words he needs to say in his throat—just not far back enough. ]
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[It's an indulgent inquiry, sadistic in its soft innocence, as she glances up at him, her eyes so wide and her expression so eager. Obedient, he'd called her last time. His pretty girl, his indulgent slut, his perfect little toy . . . well, if he wants that, why shouldn't he have it? Here, now, with her lips still wrapped around him, tongue dragging eagerly over the underside, her fingers working more intently.
Soon enough she breaks his gaze, though-- but only to duck down, taking him as far down as she can manage (not entirely, not yet, but more than the first pass, he's so big, fucking hell), whimpering as she does. As though she simply can't help but suck his cock; as though nothing, nothing could be better for her than tending to him.
She's really quite enjoying herself.
But ah, ah, he'd called for it, and for be it for her not to respond. That wouldn't be good, would it? Oh, no. She draws herself up slowly, letting him watch the agonizing sight of his prick slowly slipping past her wet lips, until at last only sticky strands of precome and saliva connect them-- and then nothing at all, as she pants harshly, her mouth wet and swollen, and stares at him.[
What is it?
[She has never looked so innocent and so sadistic all at once.]
no subject
he knows there's only one thing between him and getting what he wants, which is her pink pretty mouth back on his cock, and then the sweet grip of her pussy. any resolve he might have had in a better condition feels like wet sand in his head, crumbling and indistinct. stephen is stubborn and proud even on his worst days, but right now he's little better than a bundle of nerves.
his eyes with their blown pupils linger on her face longest, even though there's so much else to look at: the curve of her hips in the way she sits, her peaked nipples under the lace of her bra. there's nowhere he doesn't want to put his cock; nothing, he realizes, he wants more—finally, finally, he pulls hard at the cuffs, the metal clanking hard against the bedpost— ]
Fuck. [ the word a raw spill out of his throat. ] Sorry. I'm sorry, god, just—
[ how many times has stephen strange apologized in his life? the answer will not surprise you. and yet there's perfect, desperate need in his voice, an audio accompaniment to his painful erection, the hot flush in his neck. ] Please.
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[She's impressed, honestly. She'd have thought she'd have to ruin at least one orgasm before he thought of begging . . . hm. Maybe overdosing him on those aphrodisiacs has some side-effects after all. She strokes her fingers up his cock thoughtfully, a quick glide just to feel it throb, before she crawls up his body. What a sight that is, with her breasts swaying and her body arching up, lined up eagerly with his own.
Her expression is so sweet, and she noses against his jawline, her hands bracing on his bare chest. She's smiling as she looks up at him. Hovers over him, kisses him gently (and pulls back when he tries to make it deeper). And she's smiling as she murmurs:]
No.
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when she pulls away stephen makes an outraged noise, and then another when the word finally sinks in, slow as a stone in marsh. ]
No?
[ WHAT THE FUCK.COM ]
no subject
No.
[She leans back, hands flat on his chest, perching above him. It's a nice pose for him, actually, her breasts pushed up and on display, her back arched, but she doubts he's looking. She doubts he's thinking of anything but how furious he is right now.]
Did you think it would be that easy? You put me through an hour of humiliation. You apologized, and I accept . . . but you're going to have to wait a little longer before you get to come.
[She climbs off him, settling down on the bed. She angles herself so she's in easy sight of him, where he can look and look and look without having to move an inch. Isn't that nice of her? Nicer still: the way she finally undresses. Her skirt is first, her bra (and she shivers when that comes off, can't resist running her fingers against herself, teasing over one peaked nipple, fuck), and then her panties-- and oh, of course she's wet. She's dripping, obscenely so, wet enough that she could slide right on him if she felt like it. Just spread her legs and sink down atop him, fuck herself on him, ride him til she was screaming again--
Not that she will.
But she could.
She reaches over the side of the bed, and of course there's a few toys there. A vibrator, small and discreet, and a dildo, decidedly neither of those things. It's big, almost obscenely so, thick and long, and she groans softly as she nudges the head against her entrance.
Let him watch. Let him see what he could have had, if only he'd been better behaved. Rosalind leans back, her eyes hooded, and moans softly as she pushes the toy forward, fucking herself with it slowly, letting it spread her open and leave her panting, throbbing around it, getting it slick with her own arousal. She pushes it in again and again, til at last it hits home, and fuck, but that feels good-- she moans, her head tipping back, as she draws it out and fucks herself properly with it, quick and hard, slick noises filling the air between them.]
no subject
Wh—
[ when she takes the dildo out of the drawer he actually snarls, bucking against the handcuffs, like he'd murder it if it were a person. it's possible by now he's forgotten that he can actually do magic to escape, he's so fogged up.
and then, oh god, it's sliding inside her, a too sweet and easy stretch. he's breathing hard as he watches, his cock aching, so hard it hurts. too vivid to just be fantasy, the thought of how hot and wet her pussy would be, doing all that pretty throbbing around his cock. when she starts to speed up he's pretty sure he's just going to die, actually. ]
Ros— [ it's not an affectation—stephen doesn't ever shorten her name—just his speech continuing to fail him for once, dry parched throat when the rest of him is damp with sweat. he swallows hard, for the hundredth time, and it only makes him think about how good it would be to shove his tongue where that plastic is, quench his thirst on all that sopping wet. ] Rosalind. [ like a plea, and then with frustrated resignation, another furious clatter of the handcuffs— ] Fuck.
no subject
Perhaps I'll just leave you here.
[She says it breathlessly, her voice trembling, and yet there's still steel in her gaze.]
All tied up for me, helpless to do anything but bow to my whims and hope that I'll be kind . . . just lying here, waiting for me to use you again in a few hours. All nice and hard for me, ready to be ridden, ready to be used by me, for me . . . you'd love that, wouldn't you, Stephen?
[She has more to say (she always has more to say), but that, it seems, is the last she can speak. Within a few seconds she's leaning back, falling against the bed as she arches herself up. Her hips snap up, and fuck, but it's a good orgasm: she tightens around the toy a fair few times, thrusting it up shamelessly in her, writhing a little as she rides it out.
He's still aching beside her. But for her, at least, it's quiet. Her heart thumps in her ears, and she pants up at the ceiling for a few moments. She tugs the dildo out with a wince, turning the vibrator off. She sits up, staring down at him with hazy eyes.]
Look at you.
[She says it smugly. It's not the gradiose things of before, but rather a spoiled child's triumph, utterly befitting this game of theirs. Shifting, she straddles him once more-- and then, kindly, reaches forward, tugging at his handcuffs. Why not? No matter what he does, she's won. And there's almost no chance he won't throw her down and fuck her til he comes in her, but that's not such a bad thing.]
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when she comes his dick jerks in the ring, aching and near-helpless. ]
Fuck.
[ wearied, his voice raw. through the red haze of the drugs there's a thread of something he knows he'll feel in force later, that rare prickle of what he knows to be humiliation. he's usually good at suppressing it, at not feeling it at all.
when she straddles him he's still not above leaning up, trying to get at her mouth, her collarbones, any skin he can touch with his mouth. the click of the handcuffs comes as that last and best surprise—
and then he's gripping her wrist, twisting to push her under him, reaching down to snap off the cockring with such a rush of relief it's almost unbearable. ]
I can't fucking believe you. [ but it's not real outrage, maybe incredulity, as he shoves her legs apart—
slides his cock in, where she's so yielding and wet from the dildo, fuck. ]
no subject
It's no less-- nn-- no less than you deserve--
[She tips her head back, her hands coming up over her head, a mocking imitation of submission.]
S-someday-- someday I'll do that, all that, to you, I promise you--