forthedog | (no subject)

Entry tags:

darrow,
helen

(no subject)

Laying his tools out has always been a ritual of some power - now it has a new meaning, though it's one he isn't giving much space to here, because what he does in the basement of the asylum and what he's doing here have only the most tenuous connection. But the ritual is the same, a little outline without much in the way of hard planning, a set of possibilities.

It's important to keep things flexible. And this time he has a few things he didn't have before.

He picks up one of the lengths of rope - cotton, soft but reasonably strong - and turns to her. The light in the little room is warmly dim but more than enough to see her clearly by, and while he's never doubted her strength and capability... She looks almost delicate.

Pleasantly so.

He starts to uncoil the rope. "Tell me again what you absolutely don't want."

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Saffron stands quietly by, bare and ready, wondering what Mike's got in store for them tonight. She wouldn't dare ask, even if she thought he'd tell her - she trusts him enough in this to let it be a surprise. And besides, she's always got her safe word if she needs it.

"I don't want to be cut or hit in the face," she replies, her eyes on the rope and the possibilities opening up as he uncoils it.

He nods - this is a promise nearly as sacred as any other he's made, and he intends to honor it, but his gaze flicks to the sheathed knife on the bed, small and very sharp. Neil's gift, and he's never used it on the things he's caught. It's too special for that. It should be used for pleasure and nothing else.

He extends a length of the rope between his hands, moving around behind her. "Tell me your safeword."

She doesn't turn, not even her head, even though she wants to. "Christo," Saffron replies, a tremor of anticipation going through her as she waits for what's next.

"Good." He slides a hand through her hair and pulls it into a loose coil, stretching to over her shoulder - and tugs at it, tilting her head to one side. "Just relax," he murmurs, pulling the rope around her front, tucking it under her breasts. "I'll take care of everything."

Rope is still something he's learning, and he still doesn't have much more than the basics, but for his purposes the basics are plenty. He slides one end of the rope through the loop at the center of her back and pulls it up over her shoulder, between her breasts, binding them up and apart.

Saffron sucks in a breath, both at Mike's proximity and at the slightly rough feel of the rope sliding over her bare skin. She stands relaxed as instructed, allowing him to position her as he wants, and as he binds her breasts she feels the tug stretch her skin, feels it reach deep inside her and stir up warmth low in her belly.

He keeps going until she's bound up in a harness, firm and reasonably uncomplicated and just tight enough to force blood into all the right places. He twists her arms up behind her back, wrists stacked one on top of the other, and just holds her there, feeling her breathe against him.

Then he returns to the bed and grabs a shorter length of rope, sliding back behind her and binding her forearms together where they sit at the small of her back. Like this, her chest thrusts out even further, the strain probably just enough to be a little uncomfortable.

Just like he wants.

"So." He grips her by the harness and spins her roughly around. "What should I do with you?"

This is something new for them, and Saffron can already tell how very good Mike is at it. Her breath quickens as he spins her around, and she can't move enough to get her arms settled comfortably, which she suspects is the point.

"Whatever you like," she murmurs in response, not sure if his question was rhetorical or not. She may get punished for answering if it was, but she doesn't exactly mind that possibility.

"Mm." He slides his fingertips down over her collarbones, over the top line of the ropes, down to where her breasts are pulled taut. He teases her nipples gently, then pinches them and twists. He had wanted to do more with them last time, so much more than he had set aside time for, and he intends to change that now.

He moves back to the bed, picks up the crop, turns to her, swinging it lightly through the air. "On your knees."

Every touch sends shivers down her spine and warmth to her loins, and Saffron doesn't try to hide the fact that Mike is getting her very hot and bothered. When he orders her onto her knees she obeys immediately, and though she isn't able to maneuver herself as gracefully as usual while she's all tied up, she makes the move to lower herself to her knees without too much trouble.

He waits, then waits a little longer, looking at her, taking it in. Then he swings the crop through the air and catches her on the side of her left breast, then her right, then her left again, not as viciously hard as he could but hard enough to leave flushed pink marks. And he keeps going, moving in an easy, smooth rhythm, pausing at last to admire his work before the crop whistles through the air again, harder than before, hitting first one nipple directly and then the other.

There's a focus in it, a concentration. It's almost soothing. But when he sees the evidence of it on her skin, his pulse races a little faster.

The first snap of the crop against her skin draws a gasp from her, her body jerking just a little at the sting. Then he keeps going, and so does Saffron, panting and gasping and moaning as Mike draws reddened marks up from her skin. She fights to stay upright on her knees, not to bend forward, the rope keeping her arms twisted into a slight discomfort that's just present enough to be noticeable.

Her eyes fall shut as the crop snaps against each nipple and she lets out another moan, her breathing heavy.

This is always a gamble. Some women hate it, he knows, some women love it, some merely tolerate it. Some know going in, but some don't, not for sure. But it doesn't surprise him that she likes it. He'd already gotten a sense of that.

He presses the tongue of the crop under her chin, pushing her head up. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, then lets her go.

This is another step, he thinks, as he moves around the side of her body to stand behind her. A slow push in a single direction. To match it, he places the toe of his boot in the center of her back and gives her a gentle shove. "Bend down. Get that pretty ass in the air."

She meets his eyes, her hair wild and partially falling in her face, as he tilts her head back with the crop. Saffron stifles one moan, and then lets another one go as she feels the press of Mike's boot in her back.

Spreading her knees wide apart for balance, she does as she's told, bending forward so that her ass is pushed back and up. She doesn't know what he's got in mind next, but Saffron's looking forward to finding out what it is.

Again he pauses to look at her, even after he's lowered his boot, reaching out with the crop and stroking the tip of it down her spine and over the curve of her ass. "Stay there."

He moves back over to the bed and rummages in the bag - he's kept this hidden for no other reason than he wanted to produce it only at the right moment. Which this seems to be. He moves back to her again with it cradled in the fingers of one hand - heavy and smooth and metallic - and a small tube of lube in his other. Crouching, he slides a finger into the crack of her ass, finding the tight little ring of muscle and pressing gently.

"Anyone ever fuck you in the ass?" He grins. "Something tells me yes."

"Yes," Saffron breathes, after gasping at the feel of his finger pressing against her. That's a very definite yes; it's not something she does frequently, but she definitely enjoys it when it does happen. She can't see what he's holding from her position, her gaze on the floor, so she only knows he's gotten something out of his bag of tricks.

She imagines she'll find out soon enough what it is.

"Yeah," he echoes softly, stroking a hand over her ass. It's an excellent feature, he's obviously noticed that before now, but now he can really focus on it, round and firm and supple. He gives her a hard slap, then uncaps the lube, slips the weighted steel plug into his other hand, and slicks its small bulb.

It's a very pretty little thing, a present from Neil, the flared base faceted and reflective like a large gemstone, a thrift store rhinestone on a gaudy ring. But in the dimness it looks almost real.

"Relax," he murmurs, and slowly pushes it into her, past the tightest point of resistance and easily inside.

She's plenty relaxed, despite being tied up, her whole body suffused with warmth and a visceral sort of desire. When Saffron feels what must be a plug being pushed inside her she moans, her forehead lowering to the floor as her hips tilt slightly back and up.

"Good," he murmurs, taking a second to just stroke her, soothing, letting her get used to the feeling. It's not a large plug, and she shouldn't need much int he way if time anyway, but it's not about even mild discomfort.

It's always about sensation.

His hand moves down, presses against the gem base and slips lower, exploring the folds between her thighs. She's hot and slick, and he hesitates for a moment, barely brushing her clit with the tip of his finger, before pushing two fingers firmly into her.

Saffron lifts her head, though she can't move much, her arms tied the way they are. It's a discomfort that's not overpowering, but always there, and adding to the overall sensation of what's happening right now, what Mike's doing to her. She feels his fingers sliding along her skin, gasps at the brush against her clit. She moans again when they slip inside of her, her hips moving to press against his hand.

"God, look how fucking wet you are." He laughs and thrusts harder and deeper, finger-fucking her slowly and feeling her dripping over his knuckles. He bends, ghosts his lips over her spine, then pauses as something occurs to him, and he ducks his head, sinking his teeth into the flesh of one ass cheek.

Might leave a mark. He hopes so.

"You slut, you love every goddamn second of this."

She can't help but continue to move her hips, pushing what little distance she can back against his hand as he thrusts his fingers into her. Another moan escapes her at the press of his cheek into her skin. She hopes he's left a mark.

"Ai ya, yes, yes I do," she gasps in confirmation. She loves it so much that if he keeps this up, she's going to come soon, no doubt about it.

"Then you can wait for it." He pulls his fingers free, examines them in the dim light, and then brings them to his lips, licking them clean. She tastes sweet but there's a sharpness to it, something that's uniquely hers and uniquely fitting. She has an edge. He knows this.

He curls his fingers around the rope over her shoulders and pulls, not too hard but hard enough to be, at the very least, uncomfortable. "Up. You wanna come, you have to earn it."

Her moan becomes a soft whimper at the removal of Mike's fingers. When he pulls on the rope she has no choice but to go where he leads, and so she gets up silently, her muscles protesting, and a throbbing between her thighs.

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