The Iatrogenic Interrogation Inhibition
A bit darker in spots than my usual. A bit sexier in others.
Two times a tiny bit of kink worked out for MM and Dubbie and one time it didn't.
I would like to blame Jesse "the governing body" Ventura.
Tuesday
Wendy Watson drifted awake in a wonderful world of touching. The king-sized bed was already warm; the hands roving over her body even more so. One slid under her, tweaking a nipple. She sprawled flat on her stomach and let out an encouraging mmmm. The bed shifted and a heavy furnace-warm body was half on, half beside her.
She grinned into the pillow. "You'd better hurry, darling. I've got a big scary boyfriend and he'll be back from the bathroom any minute."
A mock-threatening growl. Teeth scraped lightly over the back of her neck. The nipple-tweaking hand slid to her mons; his whole weight came down. Fingers jabbed possessively, found her sopping wet and didn't hesitate.
He braced up on his elbows, hands around her forearms in a forceful, unnecessary grip that had real sting to it. His hands and his mouth on her neck and his cock were the only fixed points in the universe. Wendy had lost the mental acuity to count, other than "lots and lots." She made urgent chimp-like noises, couldn't count them either. She knew his name now but it was 'Boss' that broke loose under the last and longest orgasm, snapped every scrap of his control in turn. A perfect blend of pleasures, the physical of her own orgasm and the emotional power trip that didn't have a damn thing to do with who was holding who down. He got naked for her and nobody else, stripped not only of uniform but of the whole role of being Middleman.
Best. Personal sex toy. Ever.
Wednesday
What Boss had insisted on calling the Esoteric Ectoplasmic Expedition was the shortest mission in Wendy's experience. Three and a half hours from red ball to wrap-up, even with a visit to an alternate dimension and the resulting relativistic time distortion. They still needed a trip to the locker room before starting the after-action paperwork. Because, ectoplasm. He chivalrously let her have first chance at the hot water; he usually did.
Wendy emerged from the shower toweling her hair. Her skin was perfectly warm and dewy. No actual drips, but an all-over mist that was more condensed steam than water straight from the shower. He sat on the bench in front of their lockers, naked but still dry, lost in thought.
Wendy moved, an utterly un-self-conscious scratching. He had highly trained, 180-degree peripheral vision. She had his full attention even before he looked directly at her. Boss was a pretty pale guy – better living through sunscreen. She saw a bit of a blush developing over his cheekbones. Even now.
Wendy raised her arms, gave her shoulders a really good stretching out. Scratched idly again. "We're getting into swimsuit season. I don't know that I'm going to have time for swimming, but I usually go bare in the summer. It's cooler." A slight, wicked smile. She stopped just inside his arms' reach. "Any preferences?"
A low purr. "This calls for research." Long strong fingers grabbed her by the ass, pulled her up against his face. Wendy clutched his hair, put a foot up on the bench beside him for better access.
Wendy was making the chimp noises again before she remembered that she'd come in here with a plan. Pushed at the sides of his head. She had trouble convincing him she meant it when she'd only convinced about half of her own impulses. "Boss." He moved back a little. Wendy did too, pressed down on his shoulders in a firm stay-here. "Boss, close your eyes."
He did. Wendy bent down, tasted herself on his lips. Explored there for a while before moving further down. The insanely cute chin dimple, the smooth underside of his throat. Licked a line along one collarbone, flat oval male nipple. It hardened under her attention; his breathing changed. She crouched, towel under her knees on the cold tile floor. Traced the outline of perfectly defined stomach muscles, not much body hair in her way. Thrust her tongue suddenly into his navel. See? This is what it feels like. He shook a little and fisted his hands in her wet hair.
Target acquired.
Beautiful shallow curve like some sex-crazed sculptor's masterpiece. Velvety head with the delicate, ultra-sensitive ridge around it like a crown. The faint, clean musk she'd know anywhere with her eyes closed. Cupped his other two best friends, felt them rise and crinkle. He tried to talk, one of his non-profane extended metaphors, but it turned into fuck every time Wendy flicked her tongue. He gave up and just made general noises of approval. With a little practice, she had perfect control over the volume.
Being his personal sex toy: best. Hobby. Ever.