Stage Ten: Submission
Devil's Elbow -
Sherry was tucking her little box of treasures back into her bag.
"Honestly?"
"Yes. Honestly."
He tossed the notebook on the bed. "You made my penis too small." It was open to a drawing of him on his back with his hands behind his back. And he was clearly flaccid in it.
And now she laughed. She laughed. And it warmed him to hear it.
"I was fourteen."
"Maybe it was cold when you were drawing me that day."
Sherry chuckled and moved toward him. "Maybe it was."
"You were drawing pictures of my dick at fourteen?" Amused, he watched her walk toward him.
"Seems that way. At sixteen? I was drawing pictures like this." She opened the notebook and flipped pages. And then she showed it to him.
It was him again. Well, it was THEM. She'd drawn them wrapped around each other, clearly in the throws. He couldn't tell if his dick was too small in this picture…as it was buried between her thighs.
He narrowed his eyes, studying it like a great work of art. "Sixteen, you say?"
Her cheeks were pink. Pink. She was blushing. And he…felt something roll in his tummy looking at her. "Sixteen." She affirmed, smiling up at him.
"Hmm. I was twenty-six you realize? And would not have touched you then."
"Oh?"
"Hmm. No. I seem to possess a few scruples. I probably would not have touched you."
Sherry eyed him, delighted. "I think you amended your earlier statement, Mr. Kennedy. Probably?"
And now he grinned, just a little, "I'm a man. Not a martyr. If you'd shown up and thrown off your dress like in that hotel? I probably would have touched you."
"…that's very scandalous, Mr. Kennedy. I was a CHILD."
He glanced at the drawings and back at her face. Down again and back at her face. "I don't think you were a good child, Sherry Birkin. You were a naughty teenager. This is a drawing of me mounting you from behind. I do NOT think a child draws that."
Sherry giggled a little and delighted him. "So, you wouldn't have touched me then?"
"….probably not. Probably. I'm OCCASIONALLY a good guy."
"What if I mounted you from behind?"
And now he looked highly amused by her. He even laughed. "Like a piggyback ride?"
"….sure." Sherry pictured it. She pictured him giving her a piggyback ride right now. It was such a purely sweet imagine. She pictured them naked while doing it…and it stopped being so sweet.
"I probably would not have touched you at sixteen. Probably. Most likely." He laughed a little.
"What about now?" Sherry asked, watching those eyes shift over her drawings in the book.
"What about it?"
She dropped the towel. "Want to touch me now?"
He dropped the notebook. He studied her. "Do you want me to touch you now?"
They held eyes. She finally shook her head. No.
No?
He lifted a brow at her.
"You don't want me to touch you?"
Sherry shook her head again. She shifted toward him. He watched her move. She put him against the frame of the door.
And she said, so softly, "I know you. I know you, maybe, in ways you can't begin to know you. Because I've done nothing..nothing…but think of you for ten years. I don't want you to touch me. Not yet. But I want to touch you. And I want you to do nothing while I do it. Say yes."
It was a power reversal for them. It would mean allowing her to invert the structure of power to please him. It would mean giving over control to her so she could.
She took his hands, she guided his arms until they gripped the doorframe above his head.
And she whispered it, so nervous, so sweet. "Say yes."
"…yes."
She jerked his zipper down and put her hand inside to touch him. It was so sudden it stole his breath. Her little voice said, "Don't come, Leon. Not yet."
And he laughed, gasping, as she went to her knees and put her mouth on him.
His voice came now, smooth and low, and breathy with need, "Don't stop until I tell you, Sherry. Don't stop."
And that's how they both knew the power was still his. Hers and his. Theirs.
She drove her mouth down on him with a reckless abandon. It was unsure, it was untested, it was unbelievably hungry. Sherry went too far down and gagged a little, reversed and kept going. Dedicated, she didn't stop. She devoured. With a determined glee, she swallowed him, discovering where to put her tongue, her lips, her teeth. His sounds excited her, his need enthralled her. He didn't touch her. He vibrated with the need to.
Her little hands slid up the inside of his thighs and grabbed his hips. She pulled him against her face and brought his breath out in a laugh. Eager little thing. She didn't stop. She obeyed him. She tried to kill him with the heavy dip and drive of that wet mouth.
Close, too close, so close to the edge and spurned on by the suckling sounds she made, he finally said, quietly, "Enough. Enough, Sherry."
She didn't stop. She kept going.
Surprised, he let go of the frame to grab her face. She let him pull her mouth free with a wet pop. And he shuddered, painfully denying himself the piercing edge of release he needed.
"I said stop."
Oh, she loved that hoarse voice. She loved it. It thrilled and killed and excited her.
"I heard you."
She knew he'd punish her now. This was the game. It was the way they did things. It was how he ruled her. It was how he owned her.
But she was dying for him.
And it was time to show him her power.
It was time.
She lifted to her feet, small and delicate. And her eyes held his.
He said, "Lie down on your belly on the bed."
"Not yet." Her answer surprised him. But not nearly as much as what she did next. She grabbed his shirt and jerked. She shouldn't have been strong enough to move him. But she could. She threw him on his back on the bed and he bounced and slid from it.
That must have been something in her blood from the G-Virus. I'm strong, she'd said. And she was that. She was a little stronger, a little faster, and a little better than anyone else. Was it any wonder Wesker wanted her? There was no one else on earth like her.
She mounted him, straddling his hips and waist.
He said, "Don't, Sherry."
Don't what? She wondered? Don't stop? Don't start? Or don't TAKE HIS POWER?
His face said it was the third.
And it spilled like blood between them, hot and sticky. She wanted to take his power. And take his soul. And take him and run away and keep him. And be kept by him. And let him own her and own him. And love him.
God, he was her obsession.
He bought up his hand to spank her. She grabbed his wrist and slapped it back on the bed. She held him down and he moved, leveraging against her hold.
Surprised, he held her gaze.
And she grinned.
"Not just another pretty face."
"Let go of me, Sherry."
She put her mouth against his, just a press of lips and whispered, "…..not yet. I can't. I have to have you. Just this one time. Just this one time, ok? Just once. I need to put my hands, my mouth, my skin…I need to put it all over you. I need that. And I need you to just…let me. Just let me love you. I'm in love with your body…just…let me have you. Just this one time."
Sherry put his hands around the rungs of the headboard. "I can…I can bind you. Or you can just let me. I can make you or you can let me. Your choice."
Jesus, she humbled him the hell out of him. She made him feel like a god. Or Superman. He wanted to own her. Which was stupid. You couldn't own another person. But he wanted to own this one. He said nothing but kept his hands around the rungs of the headboard.
Her hands came up and caught on his shirt. Such a pretty, expensive shirt. She caught the little neck and pulled. It ripped down the center like paper.
His already hard dick pulsed with excitement. Clever little thing. She knew how to turn the game back on him. He shouldn't let her. But he was stricken to silence by her face. Sherry and her angel face, looking at him like he might be the devil. Like he might tempt her soul from her flesh to love him.
She scent rolled his chest and put her teeth on him. She wasn't gentle. She bit down and drew blood. Sharp and fast and immediate; it was like fire in the blood.
Leon jerked and Sherry watched a little blood fill those teeth imprints.
She didn't let it rest. She licked him. She licked him everywhere. She put her mouth all over him. He made some sound of excitement. Her little hands and mouth were starving for him. She skimmed his arms; she brushed his collarbone with kisses. She licked his chin and gently nipped along his neck. She took his pants down his legs and touched him. His calves, his knees, his thighs. She put her hands on him, she put her mouth on him, she put her teeth on him.
She left no place on his body that didn't feel her touch. She climbed up his body and angled her body to him. He made a little sound and she seated herself on his aching shaft. Sherry mewled a little at the soreness of her body but it took him in and snuggled him in the wet heat of her.
He watched the pain and pleasure of that shoot across her face. She leaned forward and slid their fingers together over the headboard rails. And she kissed him.
Soft.
So soft.
It rolled in his heart and lodged there.
She whispered, "I think I've loved you all my life, Leon Kennedy. Let me have you."
She rode his body and stole his soul. It was almost gentle. She kept their mouths together and sweetly delved with her tongue. Her hips lifted and lowered until she knew it was a good rhythm for them both. She was so tight and warm and wanting above him that he was kinda afraid she'd changed the game on him here.
He made some kind of sound when she rolled her hips and sucked him into her pulsing body so deep he was fairly certain they'd merge into one person. She felt him shudder and said, "Don't come for me, Leon. Not yet."
Clever, clever, clever girl.
She lifted off him and slapped down, hard and deep. It hurt her. He saw it hurt her. She gasped and tightened her body with pain. And it closed around his thrusting dick like a fist. And worked like a charm. He humped his hips up toward her little slapping torturous sheath, felt that perfect ass of hers roll against his groin, and pumped into her needy body.
She was so tender inside that even his pulsing shaft as she came hurt her. Sherry made a sound of pain and pleasure and want. And her hungry wetness swallowed his release.
Let me have you, she'd moaned. He'd let her have him.
He let go of the headboard and grabbed her to him. She collapsed against his body and he rolled her to her back on the bed. She gasped, gasped, and he hammered into her aching heat so hard it brought her mouth open in a scream as he plowed her body and came in her, dumping himself inside her without concern for her at all.
She rose up and grabbed a handful of his hair. He made a sound of pain and she shoved her tongue into his mouth. He pumped his release into her throbbing core while she made sounds of pain and her body clenched, cinched, and sucked him in.
Sherry made a desperate cry as went half off the bed with his thrusts. Her hand came up and she gasped, shoving against the assault of him even as she wrapped her legs around his legs and pulled him deeper. It was such a contradiction.
And then she brought her hand down on his thrusting ass.
She slapped it. She slapped it hard enough it echoed. She slapped him hard enough he hissed and grunted…
And laughed.
He collapsed atop her. She made a sound of pain and pleasure…and panic. But it was too late. They tumbled to the floor. That's what happened when someone fucked you half off a bed.
They hit the floor. She grunted. Leon made an OOMPH sound.
It was the perfect end to a mindless roll in the sheets.
And Sherry said, hoarsely, "I said don't come."
"…you did."
"I had to punish you."
He leaned up to look into her face on the cold floor.
"…clever girl." Their eyes held. It had to be getting close to the time to collect Burns. But neither was ready to move. He asked, so very softly, "How much damage can you take, Sherry?"
A loaded question.
A loaded question indeed. Did he mean physically? Psychically? Emotionally? She had a feeling he'd test her on all three. He wasn't a man that did anything, ever, without pushing it all the way past its breaking point.
And so, she answered, "Do you want to damage me, Leon Kennedy?"
They held gazes. His watch beeped to signal it was time to go. He kept holding her gaze.
"I do."
The answer thrilled her. But hers? Hers damned them both.
"…show me."
She wanted any kind of pain he could bring her. She wanted the pain, the pleasure, the pulsing greed and need of him. She wanted the rough and rumble and tumble that came with craving him. She was obsessed with him.
She couldn't think of any possible way this could end well for her.
And, staring into the tossing sea of his eyes, she couldn't find the strength to care.
Somewhere in the wilderness...
Claire woke in the moonlight.
The smooth glide of his hands on her thighs. She shook her head, grabbing for his hands.
He spilled open her legs to taste her.
She bowed. Gasped. Naked. She was naked.
Had she gone to bed naked?
She gasped, "Oh please…don't."
He filled her full of his tongue. He laughed against her. His fingers slid into her, over her, under her. She spread the cream of her needy cunt around like painting the canvas of her want.
She cried, "GET THE INJECTION! PLEASE!"
And he laughed again. And shook his head: no.
He rolled her body up to his mouth. His hands slid up her belly to palm her naked breasts. He rolled her, using his tongue to fuck her in the moonlight.
She gasped, shaking. She tried to get away.
He rolled her to her belly on the bed. He jerked her hips up. He filled her full of his driving fingers while she bucked, shaking, denying.
He painted her body with her own lying want. Her own faking.
LIAR.
She screamed for him. She came, screaming. As he fingered her sloppy heat.
She cried again, "Please….get the injection…please…"
And he whispered, "No."
She tried once again to flee. He caught her ankles and flipped her to her back on the bed.
She shook her head. Her hands came up to push. He jerked her in against him where he knelt on the bed. She pleaded now, shaking, afraid, "Please don't….stop."
Don't stop?
LIAR.
FAKER.
He thrust into the needy heat of her.
And she was so wet. She was so engorged. She was ready.
He hit the end of her. She cried out. She cried.
She cried as he fucked her.
The Dark Knight. In the dark night.
It was so wet. The bed was wet beneath her. He leaned down. She leaned up. They kissed. Tongues and need.
She mewled. Her hands stopped pushing on him. They grabbed his hips to urge him into her. The pace was manic now. Too fast.
His body made a wet slap into her. Hers sucked him in. A mouth that mewled. A cunt that craved. A girl that gave herself to the enemy. Her enemy. Her captor.
The Prince…and the Unwilling Slave.
His mouth on her breasts. Tasting. Suckling.
Give me yourself Claire…and I will offer you the world.
She clasped him to her. She wept. She clung. She came.
She came in his arms as he plowed into her. Her belly cramped with each hit against her cervix. Her body bucked into his embrace.
She came screaming even as she cried, "…don't don't don't…"
Him…or her?
And his raping thrusts weren't raping. They weren't. They were plunging into her want for him. Her hatred for herself. Her need.
Her need to get away.
And to stay there with him…impaled.
He grunted. She gasped. Her hands shoved at him.
"No! DON'T!"
And he came in her. He pulsed at the core of her and came in a scalding wash. He filled her womb with his bursting seed. She cried, groaning, shaking her head…denying. Even as her hips humped, humped, and her body swallowed him down like a whore.
She couldn't think of any possible way this could end well for her.
And, staring into the tossing terror of his eyes, she couldn't find the strength to fight anymore.