03-29-2014, 02:04 PM
Spectra curled her finger that Hood come, and he approached soundless but for the dropping of his shirt on the floor. She smiled with devious victory. How many women on this planet could make him obey so effortlessly?
Such was the theme of the evening. Obedience and submission tangled themselves as viciously as arms, lips and legs. Every primal cringe that he dared to allow to show itself, she devoured with cabalistic prejudice. He was her servant in their passions, and she made the understanding clear. In the filth of Bogotá slums, she was a different, shier beast. The jaguar he had to coax from the limbs of its shadowy home, but now Spectra's claws came out, and more than once they dug into Hood's back, and swirled the salt of sweat and reddened flesh into four stinging lines. Her teeth pinched upon tender flesh, until he groaned barbarous pain. His thresholds were high, but Spectra did not pull back until she found sadistic pleasure in his moans. She made up for the brutality, however, until he was begging for release. She wanted him to crave her as an addict for their next hit. She was not unsatisfied in this goal.
The bench. The counters. The wall, the floor. There was no place beneath them, but it was upon the density of his chest she eventually fell asleep. Her hourglass figure fit into his frame like carnal lock and key. Even asleep, Spectra stirred magnificence like her finger swirled through the sands of a distant beach. The last sound she heard was that of his heart slowing its pace. Proof that he had one, she guessed, but she could forgive him for having a heart.
She woke with a blanket draped across her body as though she'd tangled herself in its arms while warmer ones were absent. She stretched in what light streamed within. Scents touched the front of her mind. The smell of food was strongest, but mixed with the lingering presence of sweat and pleasure. She ached between her legs. A reminder of those blurred hours she didn't mind bearing the rest of the day.
The things she had worn the night before were long scattered. So she stole a shirt of his and emerged as the classic, exotic beauty adorned in her lover's dress shirt. The white of his shirt barely covered the tops of her thighs, she buttoned it at the naval and rolled the too-long sleeves to her elbows. Her hair was loose and touseled, having been tangled many times in his fists.
There was a smile on her lips when she saw him. Hood set the bar high, having also beat the previous version of himself to a distant memory. They were different, better people now, and their match was quite apparent as they studied one another in this morning-after.
"Buenos días."
She ran a finger up her stomach, along the buttons of his shirt, and made to arrange the collar around her hair. It seemed she was then distracted by the presence of breakfast. More so in surprise than hunger. "You cook, too?"
She chuckled merry amusement as though poking fun at his provincial ways and joined him for water. The fruit burst cold and juicy in her mouth, and she leaned on the counter enjoying the sensation and his presence, the same counter upon which were arranged guns and cleaning gear. She gestured at them, "Are you trying to turn me on again?"
She bit into a strawberry.
If so, it was working.
Edited by Spectra Lin, Mar 29 2014, 02:05 PM.
Such was the theme of the evening. Obedience and submission tangled themselves as viciously as arms, lips and legs. Every primal cringe that he dared to allow to show itself, she devoured with cabalistic prejudice. He was her servant in their passions, and she made the understanding clear. In the filth of Bogotá slums, she was a different, shier beast. The jaguar he had to coax from the limbs of its shadowy home, but now Spectra's claws came out, and more than once they dug into Hood's back, and swirled the salt of sweat and reddened flesh into four stinging lines. Her teeth pinched upon tender flesh, until he groaned barbarous pain. His thresholds were high, but Spectra did not pull back until she found sadistic pleasure in his moans. She made up for the brutality, however, until he was begging for release. She wanted him to crave her as an addict for their next hit. She was not unsatisfied in this goal.
The bench. The counters. The wall, the floor. There was no place beneath them, but it was upon the density of his chest she eventually fell asleep. Her hourglass figure fit into his frame like carnal lock and key. Even asleep, Spectra stirred magnificence like her finger swirled through the sands of a distant beach. The last sound she heard was that of his heart slowing its pace. Proof that he had one, she guessed, but she could forgive him for having a heart.
She woke with a blanket draped across her body as though she'd tangled herself in its arms while warmer ones were absent. She stretched in what light streamed within. Scents touched the front of her mind. The smell of food was strongest, but mixed with the lingering presence of sweat and pleasure. She ached between her legs. A reminder of those blurred hours she didn't mind bearing the rest of the day.
The things she had worn the night before were long scattered. So she stole a shirt of his and emerged as the classic, exotic beauty adorned in her lover's dress shirt. The white of his shirt barely covered the tops of her thighs, she buttoned it at the naval and rolled the too-long sleeves to her elbows. Her hair was loose and touseled, having been tangled many times in his fists.
There was a smile on her lips when she saw him. Hood set the bar high, having also beat the previous version of himself to a distant memory. They were different, better people now, and their match was quite apparent as they studied one another in this morning-after.
"Buenos días."
She ran a finger up her stomach, along the buttons of his shirt, and made to arrange the collar around her hair. It seemed she was then distracted by the presence of breakfast. More so in surprise than hunger. "You cook, too?"
She chuckled merry amusement as though poking fun at his provincial ways and joined him for water. The fruit burst cold and juicy in her mouth, and she leaned on the counter enjoying the sensation and his presence, the same counter upon which were arranged guns and cleaning gear. She gestured at them, "Are you trying to turn me on again?"
She bit into a strawberry.
If so, it was working.
Edited by Spectra Lin, Mar 29 2014, 02:05 PM.