Was she drunk? He couldn't recall seeing her intake any alcohol; he had insisted they be seated next to one another for most of the night. He wanted so much to see the defeated look on her face when his inmates out-shined her own. The glares she had been shooting him had become distinctly different, embodying a discomforting sense of passion rather than anger.
He shook his head, casting aside her change in demeanor by firing his arsenal of eloquently-worded comments and insults of her lovely ladies' barbaric behavior. Much to his dismay, he was replied with a simple sway of those long, black eyelashes. She had fallen annoyingly quiet suddenly, though he couldn't say that he preferred her normal high and mighty way of speaking. Still, she must be planning something. Obviously losing this little bet was too much for this snob to handle sanely.
"Feel free to admit defeat at any time Mistress. I wouldn't want your ladies to suffer any more trouble." He managed to form a tight smirk, offering his own, if meager leer of seduction.
The woman next to him stirred for a moment. It seemed whatever had befallen her subsided long enough for a confused, yet very heated glare to be aimed at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She replied with as much superior finesse she could muster. She averted her eyes for a moment and proceeded to distract herself with scratching a spot on her neck, presumably brushed by her lightly curled and obviously extended hair.
He turned his attention to the murderous hooligans gallivanting along the dance floor. The female counterparts of his well-mannered criminals had abandoned all effort to remain civil; wreaking havoc among the partygoers, engaging in scandalous and unruly attempts to force themselves on their male partners.
"Any time now." The Warden chimed in a satisfied tone, nudging his companion wryly. He quickly retracted himself however, her sudden light panting and half-lidded eyes sent a start through him.
"Oh, Warden..." The Mistress cooed, fluffing her jet-black curls away from her reddening face.
"Why must you be such a prude?"
"Wha-" His voice caught in his throat, plucked away from him as his back came in contact with the hard surface of the dessert table. Confections leaped up at the sudden force, splattering in all directions upon hitting the floor.
A the metal pipe in the far off corner of the room was severed, spewing a fountain of 'mud' (as it had been labeled), erupting in a cacophony of tearing metal combined with the excited screams of the newly-drenched guests. His only focus however was the broken giggling breathing against his glasses.
The Mistress, having fully embraced the atmosphere provided in the ball, shrouded in a mist of hunger and anticipation, found herself amused at her partner's lack of words.
A deep, raspy chuckle slithered from her panting mouth as she tightened her grip around the arms of the man she had forced down. The look of surprise and perhaps a little terror on his face inspired a contorted expression of prowess on her own.
The Warden couldn't seem to bring himself out of the whimpering state she had sent him in. And seeing him tremble beneath her set free a another string of breathy laughter from within, only to be drowned out by the keening cries of their guests.
"W-Wait, stop!" He gave a startled, weak push on her shoulder in an attempt to free himself, only to feel her well manicured nails dig into flesh under purple cloth.
She lifted her knee, driving it into his thigh, a measure of making sure he would learn a sense of obedience.
His first instinct was to allow the scream he felt rising in his throat burst it's way out, only he was still without a voice. Another jab to his thigh soon managed to coax it into being.
She didn't even recoil at his effeminate yelp. In fact, her eyes blazed a flash of immense satisfaction that quickly burned with a furious glint of starvation. She slowly leaned forward, her knee coursing a heavy jolt of pain into him.
"Is that the only sound I can hope for from my gracious host?" Her words seemed to trip over her salivated lips and shaken laughter. Laughter that was very quickly becoming a teeth-bared growl.
She lifted herself a little, though keeping a firm hold of his writhing arms, replacing her cry-inducing knee only a few inches higher. She lowered her open mouth to contain his resulting scream, allowing it course into prickled excitement.
Now she felt her own forearms scraped by bony leather, her shoulders being pounded on by frightened fists. She paid his efforts to replace the air in her lungs with those lovely cries with a clench of his arm or a pull on his tongue from her own.
Finally he was allowed to breathe again, gasping as much fresh air he could withdraw in a single breath. The feeling in his limbs were beginning to slip away. He couldn't hold a steady clasp to the arms that kept him immobile and his toes were beginning to tingle from the subsided flow of blood.
He opened his eyes to the sight of decorative yet frayed, rosy lace that barely held back the heaving breasts rocking against his chin. Another jolt of pain, this one a bit lessened, enticed a heavy and exasperated sigh. The warmth of his strained breath radiated back into his face, punished by lightly-perspiring flesh rubbing against his mouth.
The sound she uttered in reply at first sent another wave of terror into him, causing him to brace for another dive into his bruising and sensitive skin. However, she seemed momentarily frozen, as though she were hesitant. That sort of cry wasn't one of crazed dominance, but of slurred submission. Before he had a chance to explore this theory his mind had yet to develop, she snapped back into a vicious snarl, releasing his left arm only to claw away into the grain of the table.
He sought this as an opportunity of escape, though he had barely moved an inch before her fingers found their place. Again her pulsing skin drug against the lips trying to form a trembled protest. He distinctly felt her freeze this time, morphing his mumbling into a sputtered sigh.
Her response was all the evidence he needed to prove something his conscious was yet to be sure of. Suddenly it came to him, ignoring the frustrated kneeing to his hip. He sought a way to disperse this feeling of being outmatched.
After all, he was a man who accepted, no, welcomed a challenge, was he not? What was she trying to prove herself to be to him? Nothing more than an obstacle he would not be unable to overcome.
He allowed his limbs to relax a bit, only readjusting his leg to keep the blood flowing. As she leaned forward to press her palms into his eased muscles, he caught her chest a bit apprehensively with his mouth. She shuddered again, forcing them away with a low growl. He strained his neck forward to catch them once more, even going so far as prodding her salt-speckled flesh with his tongue.
Soon it became a battle between the two to see who could keep the other stilled the longest; the Warden finding succession in his attempts, as his mouth closed around a newly-exposed area of her skin. She shook as though she might break into pieces, the sharp intake of her breath through clenched teeth sent a wary surge of excitement through him.
They remained positioned like this until he was able to slip his arms from under her quaking hands. He dared not remove his mouth from her, lest she revert back to her ravenous tirade. Her shaking now moved from a physical effect to a vocal one, her growls easing into groans and her clawing becoming a clutch to him for life itself.
The echoed moans from their occupied inmates soon embellished additional whimpering from the females' commandress. With each tentative tug from his lips or the slight graze of his tongue across the tingling pink that protruded over the thin layer of yellow cloth resulted in muttered pleas and jumbled cries.
Somewhere in her clouded mind, she was fighting to regain control of herself. Yet soon, her arms that just moments before were attempting to instill a sense of obedience to her host quickly found themselves cradling his head, or more exactly his mouth, closer to her. The hitched breathing trying to mask the moaning so desperately wanting to crawl out from this very simplistic pleasure were indeed her own, only she possessed little control behind her flurry of insatiable want.
Having regained control of his upper body, and having realized keeping himself busy on hers kept her compliant, the Warden eased his heavily-panting assailant onto weakened legs that threatened to buckle at any moment.
As soon as his lips left her breasts, dotted with tiny red spots of careful attention, they were planted firmly and adamantly onto her neck. Her reaction was almost instantaneous; a switch had been flipped, a dial turned too far. What little hair he had bristling from the back of his head became interlocked in her fingers, pulled with a short shriek. She mimicked his ministrations with a rough twist of her own, adding a few teasing bites in flesh she could find that hadn't been covered by collar and bow. All the while holding his head back for easy and unresisting access.
He wasn't about to crumble to his challenger just yet. He let her have the few restrained croaks her teeth tore out of him before finding her dizzy mouth to meet his.
They began to blindly trudge through the coating of mud and copulating prisoners. One would occasionally lose their footing only to be pulled back into their respective place by the use of traveling hands or lips.
How on earth they made it to his room they'll never quite remember. The haze between fighting, starving mouths and the race to see who could unclothe who first is too thick. She can vaguely remember the sound of ripping cloth, not caring whose garment it was. In fact, a normally dreadful sound seemed to only increase her arousal, and once her fingertips touched his naked chest, it was all she could do not to rip into his skin.
Bodies were flung onto the previously neat and undisturbed mattress, twisting and contorting until one could maintain dominance long enough to give their component a crippling kiss or taunting grasp of sensitive areas.
Finally after endless minutes of pressing skin to skin, mouth to mouth, he found himself replicating her forceful pinning. Not only was she finally complying, her fiery eyes seemed to daring him to continue. Almost as though they were questioning whether or not he could continue.
All the reminder he needed to prove to this woman just where she was and who was in charge. Their bet was as good as over anyway, he had no doubt won his side with flying colors. Still, she seemed unconvinced, or perhaps that plan he suspected her of formulating had yet to be carried out.
He felt a soft, beckoning nudge against his growing length, a short, throaty chuckle soon followed. Taking a hold of both her knees, he dug his thumbs into the muscle above them, if only to remind her the position she insisted she be in. Her reply was very concise, a chilling sigh to accompany her tightening ankles around his calves.
His first response might have been a snarl, if it weren't for the fact that he too was becoming a little primal with his own needs. He focused on stirring himself at her pooling entrance, each painfully slow swirl sending her into a spasm he bestowed, thanked by a whimpering moan or a frantic request to continue.
Finally he couldn't wait any longer, she had long since become belligerent with her inaudible pleas and gasps. Clutching her inner thighs, he dove inside her. He would have lost it there were it not for his goal to remain the victor in this stupor. His thrusts were slow, but so very forceful.
"Feel free... To admit defeat... Any time, Mistress."
Either she hadn't heard him over the sound of her own cries, or she had and her reply to this was to cry louder. No matter anyway, the air in his room soon became a stuffy, heated mess of animalistic crooning.
He couldn't keep the pace much longer, soon he had to give in to his own desire. The look on her face told him he had the right to give in at any time and still remain the successor. As soon as he quickened himself, the tightness around him contracted in surging jolts. A few nails ran down his back as incoherent swears tripped over swollen, wanting lips. He was arriving to his own edge too quick for him to measure or even attempt to control.
"You... win."
All it took was one simple phrase, two words and he was thrown into a spiraling fervor of hurried pounding and the sound of furious flesh and bone meeting over and over. His spilled himself into her, trying to regain hold of a gentler rhythm. When he finally obtained a sense of clarity, they separated, soliciting one final and very exhausted groan from his shipwrecked guest.
He considered rubbing her defeat into her face while she was still in this state, however that moment of clear-headedness was quickly replaced by an overwhelming and uncontrollable desire to sleep.
Plenty of time in the morning to reap rewards, he reasoned as he pulled the dampened sheets over themselves.