04-07-2023, 01:38 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-07-2023, 02:55 AM by Jaxen Marveet.)
They went everywhere. There wasn’t a single inch of that apartment that was still a virgin, and Jaxen made sure to introduce Zef to that slutty condo so she could do whatever the fuck she wanted to it. He just happened to be there for her ride.
At one point, he wrapped those muscular legs around his waist and hoisted her to the wall. Artwork rattled loose, swinging precariously by her head. A second later, it dropped to the floor and he had to kick it away just to free his foot.
In the kitchen, he tossed her on the counter. The vodka bottle was barely saved by a twist of the Ancient Power, but another one wasn’t so lucky. It clattered and rolled away. Their partially finished glasses followed. Half-melted ice pooled, rolling behind her back as he hovered over. He only noticed when his fingers grew slippery from the spill, only for a wicked smile to be the premise for where he put the hand next. He practically lifted her up from the wrist, and drew immense satisfaction from the look on her expression when he licked the combined taste from his fingers afterward.
The sword of light was propped against a chair in his bedroom. The lights cast shadows across Zef’s curves. At one point, when Jaxen rummaged through a drawer for a stashed bottle of water - because hydration was important and he was breathing hard when he chugged it down - he remembered it was there.
Oriena told him that he was too delicate for the painful kind of play. Oh if she could see him now. Not that he wouldn’t mind calling her about then, but he selfishly wanted Zef to himself. Next time though. But for Oriena, maybe it wasn’t the play that was the problem. Maybe she just didn’t know how to not break her toys.
He mused at that thought and decided it was time to bring it up with someone else instead. Back at the club, Zef said she wouldn’t hurt him.. unless he wanted it.
“I want you to,” he pinned her wrists down and spoke against her lips.
”Want me to what?” she asked. The taste on her wet lips sent shudders through his body.
Jaxen grazed his cheek against hers in demonstration, the scrub of facial hair brushed from the chiseled shadow of his jaw. The lines she left were still there. They long ago stopped weeping red, but the marks of her nails remained. Then from her trapped wrist, he pulled her arm low and used the captured hand to cup something else instead.
“Hurt me,” he replied.
And she did. He gasped in shock, eyes flaring wide above an approving smile. Oriena didn’t know what she was missing.
The bed was swiped clean. Not that there was much more than a nice set of sheets and a thin blanket. Jaxen slept warm after all. If he had any clue at all what the sword did, he’d have shown it off for her. Instead, without the light of the ancient power, it looked like any other weapon. Except it was hella cool. All celt and designed with etching and shit. Zef was bent in front of him, her hips angled back against his. It was hot as hell but when he used the Ancient Power to lift the sword and grab it, he held it over his head like a fucking dungeons and dragons nerd and laughed to himself in a mirror. Really soaked in the reflection.
There were only a few moments in life that really etched themselves in your brain. This sight was one such moment that he was sure he was going to remember when he was a bent-backed old man on his death bed bragging to the old wrinkleballs next to him about how there was this one time he pumped a baby into the hottest chick in the world while posing with a magic sword overhead. That’s the stuff of legends right there.
He laughed and tossed the sword across the room. It clattered to the floor most loudly as he grabbed those hips and babied it up.
At one point, he wrapped those muscular legs around his waist and hoisted her to the wall. Artwork rattled loose, swinging precariously by her head. A second later, it dropped to the floor and he had to kick it away just to free his foot.
In the kitchen, he tossed her on the counter. The vodka bottle was barely saved by a twist of the Ancient Power, but another one wasn’t so lucky. It clattered and rolled away. Their partially finished glasses followed. Half-melted ice pooled, rolling behind her back as he hovered over. He only noticed when his fingers grew slippery from the spill, only for a wicked smile to be the premise for where he put the hand next. He practically lifted her up from the wrist, and drew immense satisfaction from the look on her expression when he licked the combined taste from his fingers afterward.
The sword of light was propped against a chair in his bedroom. The lights cast shadows across Zef’s curves. At one point, when Jaxen rummaged through a drawer for a stashed bottle of water - because hydration was important and he was breathing hard when he chugged it down - he remembered it was there.
Oriena told him that he was too delicate for the painful kind of play. Oh if she could see him now. Not that he wouldn’t mind calling her about then, but he selfishly wanted Zef to himself. Next time though. But for Oriena, maybe it wasn’t the play that was the problem. Maybe she just didn’t know how to not break her toys.
He mused at that thought and decided it was time to bring it up with someone else instead. Back at the club, Zef said she wouldn’t hurt him.. unless he wanted it.
“I want you to,” he pinned her wrists down and spoke against her lips.
”Want me to what?” she asked. The taste on her wet lips sent shudders through his body.
Jaxen grazed his cheek against hers in demonstration, the scrub of facial hair brushed from the chiseled shadow of his jaw. The lines she left were still there. They long ago stopped weeping red, but the marks of her nails remained. Then from her trapped wrist, he pulled her arm low and used the captured hand to cup something else instead.
“Hurt me,” he replied.
And she did. He gasped in shock, eyes flaring wide above an approving smile. Oriena didn’t know what she was missing.
The bed was swiped clean. Not that there was much more than a nice set of sheets and a thin blanket. Jaxen slept warm after all. If he had any clue at all what the sword did, he’d have shown it off for her. Instead, without the light of the ancient power, it looked like any other weapon. Except it was hella cool. All celt and designed with etching and shit. Zef was bent in front of him, her hips angled back against his. It was hot as hell but when he used the Ancient Power to lift the sword and grab it, he held it over his head like a fucking dungeons and dragons nerd and laughed to himself in a mirror. Really soaked in the reflection.
There were only a few moments in life that really etched themselves in your brain. This sight was one such moment that he was sure he was going to remember when he was a bent-backed old man on his death bed bragging to the old wrinkleballs next to him about how there was this one time he pumped a baby into the hottest chick in the world while posing with a magic sword overhead. That’s the stuff of legends right there.
He laughed and tossed the sword across the room. It clattered to the floor most loudly as he grabbed those hips and babied it up.