You're So Hypnotizing
Sheamus sighs softly, carding his fingers through his hair as he stares at the closed locker door. Since he couldn't very well just wander into the women's locker room, he had to stand outside and wait for someone to come out so he can ask her to fetch Marta for him. At least, he hopes Marta is inside. Otherwise, he won't be able to find her before the end of the night.
The suggestion was Drew's; how he and Marta became close enough to discuss things such as their sex lives, Sheamus has no idea and he has no particular reason to want to know. But somewhere in the middle of one of his regular rants about never finding a woman who suits him, Drew interrupted and told him to talk to Marta, that she was interested in what he was and the two of them had a common ground on not finding someone to complement them. Though he had been hesitant at first, he's here, isn't he? Here and hoping and praying that the tall, leggy Swede can help him with this problem and, in turn, he can help her with hers.
Ironic how she had caught his eye when she was first drafted into the main roster from NXT, but he never did anything about it but look from time to time. She seems worldly enough and on the mic, she can be well-spoken and intelligent, but she never gives off that vibe that advances are welcome, and enough Divas complain about the men harassing them as it is.
Besides, Sheamus doesn't believe in hitting on someone who doesn't want the attention.
Not to mention how poor he is at reading people and how few women find redheads as pale as he is attractive. It just isn't worth trying to guess anymore, and considering the fact he no longer goes for vanilla in any shape or form, he has no desire to wager a guess at whether or not he found a woman who can give him what he wants. Most of them cannot, and even if it means spending night after night alone, he can take that just a little better than sending someone away halfway through the act because he can't find the mindset to follow through. For a few years at the very start of his career, he blamed himself for his inability to make it work before a lot of soul-searching convinced him that he just isn't wired for what most people like. So be it; he just needs to find someone wired like himself. If Wade, Drew, and Heath can find each other and somehow not only make a three-person relationship work, but a relationship that involves a careful balance of power, then surely he can find one woman.
And the majority of the Divas are just not interested in the same things he is. Beyond a few he talks to every now and then, he mostly leaves them to their own devices and hangs out with the handful of friends he has within the company. Which he spends more time with Drew than anyone else just because they happen to be of like minds on almost every subject they discuss, and Drew never judges him like so many others would if they knew the truth. Some would call him paranoid for keeping so much of himself inside, but the fact is that people would look down on him for this. Men are not supposed to be weak. Men are not supposed to want to be helpless. So he keeps his secrets between himself and Drew, where they will be safest.
He glances up when the door opens and holds his breath; Please let it be somebody I actually know and can ask for a favor, please. Not that he won't ask whoever it is—she'll want to know what he's doing standing out here anyway, and there is no point in lying—but he would prefer someone he knows and is comfortable with. He might have just a tad bit of a shy streak when it comes to people he hardly talks to. Might. It really is pathetic, but so be it.
Tamina Snuka appears in the doorway, stopping when she sees him. "Oh, hey. What's up?"
"Hi, Tamina." Well, he doesn't talk to her per se, but he's much more comfortable with her than some of the others. "Is Marta still here, or has she gone back to the hotel?"
If she's gone back to the hotel, there is no way he is going to hunt her down because that would be just plain creepy. He needs her to be here, in the locker room, because he can talk to her while they walk out of the building. It's a fair distance, which is good because he has no doubt he is going to end up tongue-tied as hell asking her about this. Why does talking about this have to be so hard? Drew does it with such ease, and Heath is comfortable with it, too.
"Yeah. Want me to get her for you?" When Sheamus nods gratefully, Tamina flashes him a smile and ducks back into the room with a quick nod.
When she reappears and brushes past him to head out, Marta takes her place in the doorway and just looking at her is like a punch in the gut. She's billed as six feet tall and Sheamus believes it now that he has a chance to stand this close to her. With her dark brown hair spilling around her shoulders in loose, damp waves and her dark gray eyes fixed on his face, he can believe she might even have an inch or two on six feet. Her body is a rare balance between curves and muscle; her arms are crossed, biceps left bare by her tank top clearly defined while the fabric clings to her breasts and hips. Though most of the Divas are more fierce in the ring than they are in real life, Marta gives him the distinct impression that she doesn't put on an act.
"Tamina said you wanted to talk to me. I don't think we've spoken before," she says abruptly before he can gather his wits enough to string words into a sentence. "Sheamus, right?"
"Right. I need your help and couldn't exactly come in and find you myself, so..." He shrugs, and Marta seems to consider before nodding and stepping closer, invading his personal space.
She adjusts the strap of her duffel bag on her shoulder before gesturing down the hallway, but her eyes are locked on him. "I need to get going, but we can talk on the way out if you'd like. Though I can't imagine what the United States champion needs my help for."
"Gold can't fix everything." He falls into step beside her once she starts walking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Breathe. You can do this. "And it can't begin to fix this."
"It sounds serious. Which would make me wonder why you'd be asking a total stranger for help with it." She turns her head, one dark brow cocked up at him in question. What a good point.
He debates with how to word it for a moment. The last thing he wants to do is come off sounding like a prick about this. "Because I've been told you're the only one around here who can help."
"Oh?" She turns her head, keeping her eyes in front of her once again. "Who told you that then?"
"Drew McIntyre did. We were discussing the problem and he informed me you're the only one he knows who can possibly help me," he admits. Well, so far, so good. She hasn't run screaming.
Marta chuckles softly, and he wonders what he said that was funny. "What did Drew say?"
"Well..." He glances around, ensuring the hallway is empty. "Drew said you're a Domme."
She stops walking then, her head whipping around, eyes widening slightly as the words no doubt sink in before she moves suddenly. Before he has time to even think about what defense to take, she has a hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the concrete wall suddenly at his back. He realizes she somehow shoved him up against the wall but has no idea how. All he knows is that the moment her hand tightens, the starch leaves his body. Yes. This is what I want.
"I should have Wade spank him for saying that," she says, tilting her head slightly.
The movement sends a tumble of waves spilling across her shoulder, the fruity scent of what he assumes is shampoo wafting into his face. "So he wasn't fucking with me, then?"
"No. Drew wasn't fucking with you this time. But that means..." She trails off and leans closer, her breath curling across his lips and he whimpers softly up at her. Did he think she was intimidating a minute ago when she stepped out of the locker room? He was wrong; this is intimidating. "I never would have pegged you as the type, Sheamus. At all."
"Most people don't. I..." He wets his lips and sucks in a breath when her fingers flex against his throat, not tightening yet but the promise is there and he wants it more than he wants to admit.
The corner of her mouth tugs upward in the appearance of a smirk, but her eyes are dark and solemn. "I think I see how that can be a problem now that I think about it. A very big one."
"It's not exactly... Easy to find someone." Her gaze softens, and he hopes that means what he thinks it does. Otherwise, this is about to get awkward. "On either side. So I thought..."
"You thought you could come to me and offer sex, and maybe I'd accept and we'd be able to give each other what the other wants. Clever." Well, at least she isn't laughing at him. Yet.
He nods and tries to swallow, but her hand makes that slightly more difficult than he thought. "I just... I know we don't know each other well, but... I'm starting to get desperate."
"You're propositioning me in a hallway because you're desperate?" she asks, scowling at him.
"Um... No." Say something else markedly stupid to top this off. "I didn't mean to—"
She laughs softly and slides her hand away from his throat, up to his jaw. "Relax. I'm kidding."
"Oh. Well. That was convincing." More than a little, too. God, those eyes of hers...
Marta hums softly and takes another step forward, halving the distance between them and leaving perhaps half an inch of oxygen between their bodies. Not that it bothers him; he just leans back against the wall and concentrates on the hand slowly caressing his face, her fingers warm and gentle on his skin. Usually, that alone would be a turn-off for him, but he can almost see the power radiating off of her frame and he has zero doubts this is finally the right woman.
"Pretty," she muses, and he blinks at her; what did she just say? "I've always liked your skin."
Oh God, that. Yes, because pasty gingers are just so popular with women, and it isn't like his skin has ever even come close to tanning. He just burns. "It's usually half of the, ah, problem."
"Because most women don't like pale men, much less pale redheads?" she asks.
"Exactly." The scowl she sends him makes his knees quiver. "I'm not entirely sure why."
She shakes her head, her free hand catching his wrist before sliding slowly up his forearm. "Stupid bitches. That's a pity, though. Pale skin marks up so prettily, and you're so white."
"Does this mean you're interested in doing this with me?" He's rushing, but he needs to know.
"Absolutely." She flashes him a smile, all pearly white teeth. "Tonight if you have the time."
Even if I didn't, I would make the time. This is a little more important than work. "I do."
When she steps away, he mourns the loss of contact so sharply it hurts. Then her hand snaps shut around her wrist and she yanks him forward, dragging him down the hallway as her steps before quicker and more determined. Not that he's going to complain. The faster they arrive, the better.
"What are your hard limits?" she asks, leading him around a corner.
"Cutting, burning, electricity, body fluids in general." He jogs to catch up with her until he's at her side; then she drops his wrist only to twine her fingers with his. "What about you?"
She tosses her hair back; the scent nearly brings him to his knees. "Same. I don't really like humiliation either. Too easy to take a step too far and not realize it until it's too late."
Good. Not like I need anyone else to make me feel like shit. "That's fine with me. I don't like being humiliated either. Soft limits are sensory deprivation and over stimulation."
"I won't push those tonight unless you consent to it now. But I'd rather just take it slow tonight and get a feel for what it feels like to work with you." She glances at him, obviously asking.
"Taking it slow sounds good to me." When her thumb strokes along his knuckles, he breathes a sigh and nods, voice gaining more strength. "Since it's been so long for me, anyway."
Her eyes flash in knowing, and he can tell it's been a long time for her as well. Being a Domme isn't much easier than being a male submissive. "I'll take care of you tonight. I promise."
"I know you will. No worries." He squeezes her hand, unsurprised when she squeezes back. They'll work on building up the actual trust, but he knows she won't hurt him. Not on purpose.
He sees a few people glance their way when they step out into the parking lot but ignores them; let them gossip if they want to. If this ends up working out, he's sure he and Marta will see more of each other, so what is the point in denying something that might soon be true?
Considering he occupies one of the buses, he's glad when she leads him to an actual car and makes a mental note to just bring his own car next time. He would rather drive the way himself than have to deal with the pandemonium that occurs on the buses anyway.
"My hotel room, not yours. Tamina already knows," Marta says, pulling out her keys.
Tamina already..? Oh. Sheamus shakes his head at himself as he slips into the passenger seat; he unknowingly commissioned her roommate to retrieve her from the locker rooms, but that makes sense. Marta came out pretty quickly; she was probably getting ready to follow Tamina out.
Her hand drops on his knee as soon as his seatbelt is buckled. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes. I want this." No hesitation this time, and she nods once before starting the engine and backing out. As if he would even have a reason to be worried when he's so close.
"Good. I have various implements I bring with me when we travel. Just in case. And more than enough to take us through tonight." Her tone is light and easy, and he appreciates how nonchalant she is about all of this. It eases the tension. "We'll work on trust when we get there."
Trust is possibly the most easily botched part of their lifestyle; losing someone's trust or never gaining it properly means the relationship will be strained at best. But even though he doesn't know her well enough to trust her yet, the vibe of calm and control emanating from her soothes him in a way nothing has in quite a long time. She might not have earned his trust yet, but she will soon enough if her demeanor in the bedroom can match to what he feels right now.
She clears her throat when they near the hotel, and he glances over at her silently, waiting for her to speak. "You'll need two safe words. I don't know if you've used two prior to now, but I want you to have two. One is standard and we'll stop completely. One is like a pause button."
"So we can stop momentarily and we can talk about whatever's starting to upset me. Right." No, he hasn't used two words prior to now. Most Dominants he's met just tend to ask for the one and that's it. Unfortunate. "I've always just used the red, yellow, and green system."
Red, yellow, and green are the easiest safe words in his opinion; even out of the bedroom, they have particular meanings everyone associates with them and tend to be easier to respond to than words that sound unnatural in the moment. And red in particular is a good choice because it's only one syllable; gasping out multi-syllable words when things are going wrong can be more difficult than it should ever have to be. Submissives choose their own safe words, but he believes Dominants should still encourage their subs to choose words that will be easiest to say in the moment so they can get it out and the scene can stop. And considering sometimes that word needs to come out through tears? The easier to say, the better it is.
"Okay. We're here." Marta's voice interrupts his thoughts, and he glances over at her to see her staring directly at him, eyes a few shades darker. "Still onboard with this?"
"Yes. Are you?" The question is met with a snort, which he expects but it still makes him smile, and then they break eye contact so they can step out of the car.
She meets him on the other side, taking him by the hand again. "Well, let's go inside then."
The walk inside is just as strange as the walk out of the venue was; several of their fellow wrestlers are milling around in the lobby and double take when they walk by. A few of the guys send them unfriendly looks—looks like Marta has been hit on even when she says not to hit on her—but she simply sends them nastier looks in return and drags him to an elevator with her.
As soon as the doors close, he finds himself pressed into a corner with her in front of him, hands pressed to the walls on either side of his head while one of her legs slides between his. Fuck, please. The air between them sizzles, threatening to catch fire while her eyes darken steadily but smolder like low-burning coals. Even though the change was sudden and he barely had time to react before she pinned him to the corner, he can't feel alarmed. This is what he's wanted for so long, this feeling like he's losing control of the situation. No, not losing it. Handing it to her.
Marta holds the position for the entire elevator ride, her eyes more than her body keeping him pinned in place, lips twitching when he exhales shakily and his face begins to heat up. Considering he can't hide a flush to save his life—even the smallest one is obvious a mile away—he knows she can see the effect she has on him. The fact she finds it pleasing heightens his confidence and goes a long way toward relaxing him further, but it's hard to relax when the heat of her body already has him tensing up for far different reasons. If she would just touch him, some of the tension would be eased but he doubts she wants it to ease. If she wants to touch him, she will; she made that perfectly clear back at the venue, after all, and he hardly doubts she would have changed her mind on the ride over. He swallows hard when her eyes darken further, and a whimper slips out against his will. Then she smirks wide, leaning closer to him.
The scent of her shampoo and the muskier scent of her skin is overwhelming at this short distance; his breathing quickens to pants in response and he knows she enjoys that too when her eyes drop his, falling slightly lower. Probably to his lips. He tests his theory and licks them, and her pupils dilate, her arms twitching slightly. Definitely his lips, then. She returns her gaze to his, and he sees the knowledge flicker in her eyes; she knows what he did and that he did it on purpose, and he has no doubt she's going to make him pay for that little trick. Good. The thought of being draped across her lap while she warms his ass with her palm of her hand is tantalizing, so he licks his lips again, pointedly. Another flicker, another warning that she knows what he's doing, but he just holds eye contact when she makes it.
When the elevator dings softly, she huffs and pushes herself back, smoothing her hands down the front of her tank top. "I can't believe I didn't peg you as a submissive before now. And I'm going to make you regret teasing me, Sheamus."
"I look forward to it," he assures her, smiling slightly when she laughs.
He holds his hand out to her before she can reach for it, and she flashes him a dazzling smile that hits him in the chest, hard, before leading him down the hallway. Only God knows how many other wrestlers are on this floor, and he wonders if she plans on gagging him or not. Otherwise, he's probably going to get loud and everyone will be able to hear it. Not quite a settling thought, but maybe he can find the self-control to hold in his own sounds.
"Everyone is going to be talking about this tomorrow," she muses, glancing up at him.
He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. "Kind of part of being in the business, really. If it's really a problem, you can just go to your room and I'll go back to mine."
She simply rolls her eyes and smiles before swiping her card through the lock and pushing the door open. Without a word, he follows her inside the room and keeps the door open long enough for her to switch on a lamp on the nightstand, then pushes it shut and lets it latch. The change is instant; she fixes him with a blank face and drops her bag on the floor, her eyes roaming along the length of his body as she closes the distance between them, stalking like a predator.
"How long has it been exactly for you? I want as close to the date as you can get." She stops in front of him, feet set apart, arms crossed over her chest, gaze expectant.
To the date? Fuck. "Five months, three weeks, and four days." Well, at least he feels a little less neurotic for remembering so exactly. And she does look pleased with him, so there's that.
"I'm going to go into the bathroom and change into something a little more appropriate for this evening." The corner of her mouth twitches upward again. "Jeans aren't really what I prefer."
"Do you want me to undress while you change, ma'am?" And her pupils dilate once again.
She seems to consider for a moment, straightening before turning slightly to walk around him. It takes all of his self-control not to turn with her. "I don't think I want you to undress, no."
"May I ask why, ma'am?" He keeps his tone level and neutral, though the curiosity is there, too. He's never had a Domme not want him to undress before. It's a little unnerving, actually.
"Because I want to undress you myself." A hand brushes along the small of his back, and his entire body shudders in response. "You're a gift and I want to unwrap you myself. Understand?"
His head bobs in a nod without him realizing it. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. But I do want you in position when I come out of the bathroom." She returns to stand in front of him, the hunger in her eyes piercing straight through him. "And I assume you know what position I'm talking about. Then I'll get around to undressing you myself."
Her eyes stay locked with his until he realizes what she wants and nods again. The last thing he wants to do is rack up too much punishment this early. "Yes, ma'am."
Marta retrieves her duffel bag and heads into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her firmly. Instantly, Sheamus kicks off his shoes and drifts over to the more open part of the floor, dropping to his knees and adopting the typical submissive position. Knees spread wide, hands resting on his thighs, back straight. The fact she wants to undress him herself thrills him; no Domme has ever wanted to do that. They always have him undress himself before they start playing, but clearly Marta wants to enjoy this her way and he is more than willing to let her.
The moment the bathroom door creaks open, he fixes his eyes on the doorway and is pretty sure he's going to stop breathing very soon. Hopefully, he can get this back under control.
More appropriate turns out to be leather. Black leather. Skintight black leather pants that cling to every inch of legs that seem to go on forever, especially when added to the high-heeled black leather boots that hit her around mid-thigh and lace down the sides with bright silver buckles. In lieu of a top, she wears a black leather bra instead. He didn't even know they made bras in leather and assumes it must be extremely soft because she looks comfortable in it.
"I could get used to seeing you on your knees like this," she says, and he swallows hard and nods.
Though it's hard not to react the way he wants to because no one has ever said something like that before. Most of the women he's played with prior to now were never interested in more.
She starts slowly circling him once again, the leather creaking softly with every movement. "I'll try not to mark you up too deeply since you don't wear anything but trunks in the ring."
"I've gone out with welts and bruises before, ma'am," he murmurs, freezing when she stops.
"That's true. You have. I always thought they were from your matches." Her hands are suddenly on his shoulders; she's behind him. "I always just thought your skin bruised easily."
He says nothing, but her hands stay put, warm even through the fabric of his t-shirt. Then they slide down his back; she's lowering herself to the ground as well, until her fingers hook in the bottom of his shirt and drag it slowly up his back. He winces; he can't really help how he feels.
"I saw that. What's wrong?" Her voice is suddenly sharp and oh-so-close to his ear.
How can he put this into words? Of all things to confess to a woman willing to Dominate him, it has to be this. "I'm not exactly... Comfortable with my body." Which is putting it nicely.
"You have a problem with being fair-skinned?" Oh, what a pretty way to word things.
"Most people do," he hedges. "I guess I'm not an exception to the rule."
She says nothing for a long moment, just eases the shirt over his head and slides it down his arms; he lifts his hands from his legs so she can remove it entirely and toss it aside, then sets them back in their original position. Then her hands smooth down his back, leaving a trail of goose bumps as they go. His breath catches in his throat at the gentle touch. Then her hands reach his hips and curve to fit them, her chest suddenly blanketing his back as she presses her lips to his ear.
"I happen to think you're gorgeous just the way you are, and if someone else has a problem with that, they can go fuck themselves. They're not here tonight," she whispers, voice low and husky.
Normally, something like that doesn't relax him, but his body relaxes back into hers and he nods, wetting his lips so he can speak. "Thank you, ma'am."
She hums and stands once again, returning to her position in front of him with a few rapid steps, her hair sliding across her shoulders before settling once again. Those dark eyes fix on him, and he shudders because fuck. He's only shirtless but he feels naked like she can see straight through his remaining clothes, his skin, to his very soul. When she lowers into a crouch, he's reminded of a predator preparing to strike and can't hold back the little moan that trembles on his lips.
"I haven't even really touched you and you're already making pretty noises," she says.
Pretty noises. Well, if she likes that, she'll love it when she has him at her mercy in totality because he's vocal as hell and she might just have to go ahead and gag him.
Her hands dart out, easily unbuckling his belt and yanking it from the loops. "I'll be borrowing this tonight. But you won't need it anyway. Hold still."
Like he's going anywhere. But he holds perfectly still just the same while she unfastens her jeans with quick, efficient movements, working the denim down his hips. Maybe he should have—
"You're not wearing underwear, naughty boy." His face burns because no, he's not wearing any. And usually doesn't. "I approve wholeheartedly. Sit back on your ass so I can pull these off."
Well, nice to know she approves of me not wearing anything under the jeans.
He sits back like she asked and lifts his hips slightly to make sure she can get the jeans past his hips and upper thighs without issue. When she finally gets them off, taking his socks along the way, he moves back into position and tries to ignore the flush slowly working its way down his body. No matter how many times he's naked like this, he never quite erases the embarrassment.
She tosses his jeans out of the way before standing once again, the heels putting her so far above him especially when she's this close. He's starting to understand why the other guys tried to flirt their way into her pants before now even when she asked them not to do it.
One hand comes to rest on his cheek, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone almost absently as she stares down at him. "I think I'll start with the punishment for that little transgression in the elevator. You're going across my lap and I'm going to see just how easy it is to leave marks."
"Yes, ma'am." When she steps back and removes her hand, he rises to his feet and waits.
With a hair toss, she settles into a plush chair against the wall and pats her lap. "Come here."
Sheamus knows better than to hesitate. He crosses the room and positions himself across her lap, tangling his hands in the thick shag carpeting to have something to hold onto.
"Count them out as I go. If you mess up, we restart. Understand?" she asks.
He nods again and takes a deep breath before letting it free. "I understand, ma'am."
Before he even has a chance to finish exhaling, her hand comes down hard on his ass and he gasps out the one as fire blooms in the spot she struck. Fuck, she hits hard, and then she cuffs him again and he has to focus on the hits so he can keep track. Over and over, coming down in different spots different spots so hard he chokes out at least half of the numbers. He's used to pauses, building the anticipation, not blows so fast he can't brace himself properly.
This is better, though. The blows strip down the last of his walls one by one until, when her hand comes down the tenth time, he barely gets out the word before tumbling straight into subspace. He shudders across her lap and bites his lip when her hand comes to rest on his ass, his hips lifting slightly in silent offering. He can't see her, but he can feel her approval just the same.
"Are you still good?" she asks, her hand stroking over his burning skin. "Give me a color."
She wants a color. That's just fine with him because he's not entirely sure he can string a sentence together at the moment and the last thing he wants is more punishment because he can't give her what she wants. But he can get out a color, at the very least.
"Green," he murmurs out, and she hums softly in acknowledgement. Then she shifts slightly beneath him, and he hears the familiar sound of a bottle cap being flicked open.
He's pretty sure she didn't have anything in her hip pockets, but she might have back pockets.
"You have a perfect ass. I think I'm going to spend the night playing with it. After all, you took your punishment rather beautifully if I do say so myself." There's another snap, and he exhales shakily once more before nodding and arching his hips up toward her again.
Her fingers drift along his crevice and he bites down hard on his lower lip to hold in a soft whimper at the touch. Please, please. He just wants to be touched, to have her fingers inside of him and stroking over that spot that drives him insane and makes his entire body lurch and writhe in response. But she has to know how badly he wants it because she doesn't just press inside of him and work him open. Instead, he feels her fingers sliding between his cheeks, caressing the skin almost reverently. It makes his lip tremble so he bites down on it harder, breathing just through his nose while she continues exploring his skin. It doesn't help that no one, no one, has ever touched him like this before, like it's a fucking blessing or something.
He shudders full-bodied, and the hand not on his ass comes to rest between his shoulder blades, petting him there in slow, soothing caresses. How can she be so gentle with him, so attuned to him when she barely knows him? How can a complete stranger know him so well, appreciate him like this, when he can't bear to look at himself in the mirror in the morning?
Something inside of him breaks at the thought, and Marta knows without him saying a word. Her arms suddenly wrap around him, forcing him to turn over so he's half-sitting on her lap, his head pressed against her shoulder a breath before the tears well up in his eyes and threaten to spill over. Though he's heard about this, he's never had his walls stripped away so cleanly until there was nothing inside of him holding back the self-loathing, the distress, the loneliness that he's forced himself into because of how little he can tolerate himself. Before he can scramble for his walls once again, the tears break free and trickle down his cheeks, and Marta smoothes a hand down the side of his neck, lips brushing against his forehead gently.
"That's right, baby boy," she murmurs, and the nickname is like a gut punch. "Let it out."
No, he wants to retort, but her hands are so gentle and she's so warm, so comforting, and she's here for him in a way no one else has been in years. So he presses his face against the side of her neck and lets the tears fall, sobbing against her skin as the knot of anguish constricting his heart slowly begins to unravel and fall away. How can she have this effect on him?
The tears finally stop after God only knows how long, but he stays huddled against her as she switches to rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder blades. This close to her, wrapped in her arms and feeling so damn vulnerable, feels... Right. And it shouldn't; he should be fighting back or trying to erect his walls once again, but he can't. They aren't there when he reaches for them. All that is there is the smooth, steady wave of pain and pleasure she elicited when she spanked him moments ago. Even though he should be embarrassed about just how hard he is after crying on her like that, he can't find it in him to be embarrassed. He just feels... Emotionally wide open.
"You needed that," she finally says, leaning back to look down into his face.
He has no idea what his face is conveying right now, but he nods and she smiles, clearly pleased, before leaning closer to brush her nose against his. If he'd thought her fingers on him was intimate, then he doesn't know how to classify this. It isn't like in the elevator when she was staring him down or when she was spanking him. This is something he doesn't have a name for.
Marta's lips breathe across his before she pulls back. "I'd rather play with you on the bed."
Something has changed, then. Sheamus doesn't know precisely what it is, but he simply nods and wipes his cheeks dry before standing and approaching the bed, stopping to wait for her word.
"How do you feel right now?" She's at his side a moment later, her chin coming to rest on her shoulder while one hand plays down his back to rest on his ass again.
He ponders for a moment before locking his eyes with her. "Better, ma'am."
And he doesn't precisely have a reason for why he feels better except that maybe he just needed to cry it out before they truly began. At any rate, he does feel better. Lighter. Like a lot of what's been weighing him down has been lifted from his shoulders and the ache it left massaged away.
"Good. Have you had your former partners play with your ass before?" She squeezes; he whines.
"Sometimes, ma'am." He feels the question and answers it before she asks. "Not very much."
She hesitates, then drops a small kiss on his shoulder. "I'll enjoy spreading you open, then."
"Yes, ma'am." The words are automatic and come out on a sigh.
"So pretty." She rounds him and snatches the pillows from the left side of the bed, setting them on the middle of the mattress. "Facedown. Hips here. I want your ass in the air for me."
"Yes, ma'am." He crawls across the mattress, settling himself against the pillows.
And he immediately decides he likes the sleek pillowcase because the smooth slide against his aching cock his amazing. He's nearly throbbing, his balls achingly heavy, but it's not uncomfortable enough to be a concern and he knows she will take care of him when the time is right. So he relaxes against the mattress and spreads his legs, not surprised to hear the creak of the mattress or feel a weight settle between his legs. He's never been exposed like this before, not to anyone, but her soft hum of approval tells him he's done exactly what she wants.
Her hands are suddenly curving to fit his thighs, thumbs stroking over his skin, and he lifts slightly into the touch. "You have such sexy fucking freckles. Have you ever been eaten out?"
"No, ma'am." But the idea makes him shiver and bite his lip just the same.
She sighs softly, and he can imagine her shaking her head, dark waves sliding over her shoulders as she laments the missed opportunities of the women who came before her. For some reason, it gives him a little boost in confidence to know she thinks those women made mistakes with him by not going as far as she plans to go, though whether she's thinking of his pleasure or hers, he isn't sure. Probably both. He doesn't know just how well he's going to like what she wants to do because he doesn't have much experience with it, but he senses she has plenty of experience.
Her hands work slowly up his thighs, massaging as they go, relaxing him further until he nearly melts into the sheets beneath her magical touch. When her thumbs graze the area just under his ass, the oh-so-sensitive skin there, her lips are suddenly at the small of his back, her hair spilling from around her face to pool on his back. His skin is heated up enough that the cool strands are a shock to his system, unexpected but wholly pleasant, and he closes his eyes as he tracks her progress down the dip in his back. This is like before when she was holding him, something more than just casual play and yet he still doesn't have a name to put to it.
And still her hands continue their path, fingers creeping up along the still-hot skin of his ass, aggravating the abused flesh and making him grind down into the pillows. The heat cycles through his body, never pausing very long in any one place, thrumming through his cock until a little moan slips from his lips. He feels her pause, her lips curving into a smile against his skin, and then she spreads his cheeks apart and renders him completely exposed to her.
He doesn't have a word to describe her actions but he knows exactly how he feels with her opening him like his, breaking down all of his walls and intent on giving him pleasure; he feels cherished. Like she truly does care for him and wants to make this experience as wonderful for him as she can, from working inside of his defenses to lay waste to them to comforting him when he was vulnerable and afraid to now, about to give him pleasure he has never experienced before. The way she touches him, so reverently, and the fact she loves the one thing about him he hates the most... Is there any way to feel but like she does care about him?
Then her mouth slips lower, and he loses his thoughts when he feels warm wetness trailing between his cheeks. It's not unpleasant, just different but he opens himself to the experience and concentrates on processing the physical sensation. And it reminds him of how her fingers felt before he started crying, before he stopped her. So slow, as if she's treating him like a rare treat and wanting to savor every touch, every taste. It's too much, and even though he just wants to keep his mouth shut, he knows he can't. Not right now. He's confused and open and uncertain, and he really does need her to clarify what is going on before they go any further.
It takes him a few times to wet his lips enough to speak, to rein in his power of speech just so he can get the word out. If it's this hard for him to speak now, he might need to get a hold of a washcloth or something he can let go of to use as a safe word. They're usually used for gagging scenarios, but whatever. He might need it now, gagged or not. "Y-yellow, ma'am."
She stops instantly, suddenly leaning over him, hands braced beside his head. "Yes?"
"I... I don't..." He tries again, clearing his throat, and frowns when she suddenly leaves the bed. She returns with a water bottle, and a drink clears his throat. "I don't understand why."
"Understand why you're picking up on something other than lust?" He nods, and she sighs.
He's a breath away from apologizing, sure he just did something to disappoint her, but she suddenly slides her fingers through his hair in a gentle petting gesture. That's a little less strange because petting a sub is normal and it's soothing, but the soft look she sends him is more than a little confusing. She wets her lips before brushing her nose against his again, her breath curling across his lips and tempting him with the promise of a kiss. But kissing isn't on the menu; if she wanted it, she would have taken it by now, right? So she must not want it.
She smiles then, fingers drifting through his hair more slowly. "Because I'm projecting more than lust onto you. And I feel more than lust for you. Your submission is beautiful."
"I don't understand, ma'am." He furrows his brows at her, trying to process her words.
"You gave yourself fully," she explains. "I've never seen that before. Usually, men hold back."
Holding back sounds more like him; no one has ever bothered to try to push him this far.
She surprises him by leaning forward and pressing her lips firmly to his, the touch sending a thrill throughout his body and urging him to yield to her kiss, offering himself to her. Without hesitance, the hand in his hair tightens and angles his head, her tongue swiping across his bottom lip before thrusting into his mouth. He moans and opens wide for her, not bothering to fight back or challenge her. Instead, he simply curls his tongue around hers and lets her explore the inside of his mouth. She tastes sharp, fresh; it makes his stomach tighten.
"I've wanted to do that for a very long time," she admits when she draws back.
He frowns, trying to make sense of her words. "But ma'am, I thought you said that—"
"Did I ever say I didn't have an interest in you prior to now?" She cocks a brow, waiting.
Did she? He thinks back to the conversation in the hallway and shakes his head. "No, ma'am."
"It'd make me a goddamn liar if I did." She kisses the corner of his mouth. "Because I did."
He struggles to comb through his thoughts while she trails her lips down his cheek to his jaw, further down to what throat she can reach with him on his stomach. Interest in him prior to now? Well, it makes sense and explains why she had no problem getting in his personal space prior to bringing him into this room. It goes a long way toward explaining why she agreed to this at all when most strangers wouldn't. But that means she does care about him, and he isn't used to the person topping him also caring for him in a way that isn't strictly sexual.
Does this mean she wants to continue this after tonight, though? He was convinced this would be a one-time thing, a way for the two of them to work out their sexual frustration with someone who understands and then go their separate ways like before. Not that he wouldn't like something full-time, especially with someone who understands him and what he needs, but can he be the submissive she wants? Well, even if he can't, he's willing to give it a shot if she is.
"I've looked forward to this a long time," Marta whispers. "Are you still okay with all of this?"
Sheamus sucks in a slow breath and twists his head around, letting his heart spill into his eyes so she knows before nodding slowly. "Yes, ma'am. I'm still okay."
"Good. Just lie there and relax, and I'll take care of you." And the kisses start trailing down.
He nods and closes his eyes, pressing his cheek against the cool sheets once again as he focuses on her mouth, warm and wet and leaving hot kisses in its wake.
Her hands return to his ass, spreading him once again, and he arches up into her touch when he feels a hot swipe of tongue just above his crack. God, she's going to kill him if she keeps this up. But it would be such sweet death, and then she resumes licking her way between his cheeks until he feels her there, a warm breath blowing over his hole, hips bucking forward into the mattress.
"If you like that, you're going to love it when I actually start," she purrs.
Yeah, he's pretty sure he's going to fall to pieces when she finally starts. It's almost a certainty.
She gives him no warning before her lips are suddenly there, pressed against him in a kiss and he sucks in a gasp at the sensation of it. This isn't what he expected, not in the least. Not the sensation nor the way it makes his stomach flutter slightly. She's still being tender with him even now, and he is never going to be able to repay her for this. Hopefully, she doesn't expect him to because he can't even begin to think of a way to do that.
Then she licks, her tongue hot and branding his skin in a wet sweep that saps the remaining strength from his body and leaves him limp against the sheets. Her hands are warm but her tongue is burning, lapping over his skin, teasing him and driving him insane. The tip circles around him, and he can feel it quiver slightly. She's laughing and he can't even be angry at her.
She changes position before he can really get used to it, one hand keeping him spread for her while the other cups his balls and squeezes lightly. Oh, God, yes. He presses his face into the sheet and fights not to buck his hips back for more while she starts dragging her tongue down his hole, over his perineum, and back up again. Where the fuck did she learn this?
The thing is, his balls are nearly painfully swollen by this point and her hand on him, massaging him and working him, is helping the pressure be less painful. She has to know it, too, because she's just too good not to know something like this. And then she stops teasing him, her tongue flicking over him once more before pushing inside of him. A choked moan leaves his lips at the sensation, the warm wet glide inside of him unlike anything he's ever experienced before. She's not even hesitating, not giving it a second thought, and it's so reassuring.
"Fuck, please," he whines, half-expecting to get reprimanded for the outburst and laughing breathily when she just licks deeper inside of him. So she does have a bit of an ego, then.
Her tongue twists and curls inside of him, dragging over his walls, teasing him in a way nothing else ever has. It's maddening, the heat and the wetness but it's also perfection and he never wants this to end. When her slender fingers are suddenly slipping just past the rim, pulling him open, he's pretty sure he's on the verge of passing out because her tongue gets even deeper.
"Enjoying yourself, Irish?" she asks, her mouth abruptly gone and he whines at the loss.
"Y-yes, ma'am. S-so much," he shamelessly admits, turning back to look at her. "Please..."
Seeing her poised above him is really too much for him. Her long, dark hair spills around her face in an umber curtain while her smoky eyes regard him with something almost playful. Her lips are wet and he knows it's because she's been licking her way inside of him. More than that, though, is the care lurking in her eyes, meshed so well with the predator inside of her as if it is all natural to her. So easy to take on. Because he's getting the sense she does really care for him.
"I'm going to fuck you now. I've got a few sizes, but I'll not start you out with the biggest one. That'd just hurt you." She rests her chin on his ass, watching his face. Expecting an answer.
He nods and licks his lips, pushing the words out. "Yes, ma'am."
"I'm also binding you." She smirks up at him. "With your own belt. You'll enjoy it."
Fuck, yes. He nods and turns back over when she gestures for him to, feeling her leave the bed and hearing the sound of buckles unclasping. Her boots. Then the sound of leather being worked down skin. Her pants? Probably. Then the sound of a zipper, various other sounds... He loses track of them all but he knows she's stripping and putting on a harness. He isn't an idiot, after all. When she's back on the bed, he immediately puts his hands behind his back.
"Good boy," she praises as she winds the leather of his belt around his wrists, pinning them firmly in the small of his back. "Now on your back. I want to see those pretty eyes."
She has to help him roll onto his back, and the pull of his arms is only slightly uncomfortable; she's managed to manipulate the buckle of the belt so the metal doesn't dig in. Then he kind of gets lost in admiring her naked body. She's all curves and muscle, firm breasts and wide hips and fuck, he's never seen a woman pull off a strap-on quite as well as she does. It's like in the leather, the way she wears it so effortlessly so that the black straps and the ridged green silicon look almost natural on her. Green. He raises an eyebrow up at her and she just grins at him.
Then she produces the lube once again and he watches as she pops the cap, smoothing the slick gel over her fingers before two of them are suddenly pressed inside of him, stroking him open. He spreads wide for her, letting her have as much of him as she wants, his eyelids fluttering at the sensation of being stretched open. When she strokes over his prostate, he moans helplessly and arches his hips up, a silent plea for more. And she gives it to him, pressing in a third finger and teasing over his spot with light strokes before adding a deeper, massaging technique.
"You're open enough now," she murmurs, leaning back to slick the length of her cock. God, those ridges are going to feel amazing. "Spread those big, beautiful thighs for me, Irish."
Oh God, she has a thing for his thighs. He can just tell. So he makes a show of spreading them wide for her, hugging her hips when she settles between them. Her eyes dart up to his, puzzled before a bright smile spreads across her lips. As if telling him she knows and approves, she trails her fingers along his sensitive inner thigh before he feels the press of silicon against his hole, slick and warm from her fingers. And he wants it, his hips bucking down of their own accord.
Marta pulls back slightly, one dark brow raised in question. "You're going to hurt yourself if you try to do it like that. Let me. When I tell you to, then you can start pushing back."
He doesn't want to wait, but he knows she's making a point so he holds still and gasps when she presses back up against him. When her hand drops down on his thigh, not hard but more of a gentle pat, he pushes his hips down and shudders as the head of the fake cock breaches his opening, the shaft slowly sliding into his body. Fuck, it feels so, so good to be so full again.
Sheamus wants to turn his head, bite down on the pillow to muffle the low moans and whimpers leaving his lips, but Marta wants to see his eyes so he simply lets the noises out. And her eyes glitter as she slowly pushes inside of him, stretching him open and making him feel so full, so hers that it makes his breath catch repeatedly. She stops when his body seizes up, gives him a minute, pushes in more. It's a slow, gentle rhythm he finds himself getting lost in quickly.
The ridges are a heaven all of their own, stroking at his inner walls, rubbing over his spot in quick succession. It's amazing how it can feel so good so fast, but that's not so much the toy and so much more the woman using it on him. When Marta's hips are flush against his thighs, he doesn't think twice about wrapping his legs around her and holding her close to his body.
She smiles down at him, leaning over him to ghost her lips along his throat. "You like being stretched so wide around my cock? Because I love watching it happen."
"Yes, ma'am," he replies obediently, tilting his head back to offer himself up to her, shivering when her kisses turn to licking and nipping bites. She's so fucking good at this, at just taking his power and bending it to her will, and he loves every minute of it. "Feels a-amazing."
She presses a kiss just over his pulse, then straightens and slowly pulls out, only getting so far with his legs trapping her. He relents a little, allowing her further out, and then she thrusts forward into him. Fire licks at him from the inside, his cock throbbing and leaking against his stomach at the sensation of being so full, so at her mercy. So hers. It's ecstasy.
"Such a good boy, taking it so well. I'm glad," she croons, finding an easy rhythm with her hips that slides the toy's ridges over his spot in a slow, even tandem that makes his cock even harder.
He just nods, beyond words and sobs when she thrusts in harder, spearing him open even more.
Her hands slide under his thighs, splaying across his skin as her eyes darken to nearly black down at him. "And those gorgeous eyes of yours just keep getting darker. I love it."
She keeps her hands on his thighs as she picks up the pace, fucking him so slowly and leisurely. It's nothing like what he thought he would get from her—fast, rough, hard—but it's better this way and he opens up to her, unwilling to hide a single part of himself from her. She wants him just like he is, just as he is right now, and he doesn't see the point in hiding himself from her.
"Good. That's what I want. Fuck, your eyes are pretty." She shimmies her hips, and he moans.
Then her hand is around his cock, slowly jerking him off, her grip firm but gentle, the lube giving it a slow slide that makes him buck up into her hand. And he finds his own rhythm, trying to match her hand and her hips while she manipulates his body with such expert precision.
He stares up at her, begging silently with his eyes and breathing out a whine when she nods just once, a barely perceivable nod of her head. When she strokes him just one more time, he nearly screams as his orgasm pounds through his body, spilling hot over her fingers and onto his stomach. She works him through it, her hips gradually slowing to a stop.
Then she stands and retrieves a bottle of oil, rolling him onto his front to deftly unbuckle the belt, freeing his wrists. She massages the feeling back into them, then works the oil into his ass.
"I think you should stay with me tonight. You're exhausted," she murmurs, setting the bottle aside, gathering up the comforter and wrapping it around him. "And you need me right now."
He just smiles sleepily up at her and nods, surprised when she shifts into a sitting position and pulls him up against her chest, his head falling back against her shoulder. "Or just stay. Period."
"I was thinking that, too," she muses, stroking her fingers along his jaw, tilting his head up to lay a gentle kiss on his lips. "I'd prefer if you just stayed, period, too."