Once Elizabeth left, I looked online to select an appropriate venue for our date the next day, and was fortunate enough to discover that a local theatre was putting on Medea the very next day. I purchased two tickets and selected a pleasant, upscale restaurant to eat at afterwards.
I arrived first, tickets in my wallet, and Elizabeth was there within a minute or two. She was wearing a long red dress, with a lacy semitransparent area around the top side of her breasts and her upper arms, her shoulders left bare. She smiled as she saw me, quickly attaching herself to my arm.
"This is great," she said, smiling. "Medea is my favorite play."
"I have to admit, I did find it mentioned in some newspaper or other, and the memory bubbled back up as I considered what sort of date we should go on. What about the play makes it so appealing to you?" I asked, as I guided her inside.
She hummed thoughtfully at the question. "I think it's a twofold thing," she explained, as I used my tickets to get us inside. "There's the element of just how justified her revenge - oh, you do know the plot, right?"
"The outlines, yes," I responded.
"Right. Medea's revenge is to kill his new wife, his new father-in-law, and his children. And she's justified in wanting vengeance. In the original myth, she's incredibly instrumental in his successes, even killing her own brother to allow her and Jason to flee. Then she married him, gave him children, and he tossed her aside like so much garbage for a new woman. Especially in the premodern world, that's an awful thing to do. Ungrateful sounds like such a petty word for it, but he was incredibly so. So there's that element to it that that I liked, that here's a woman who has been deeply wronged and she's able to avenge herself for it, ultimately."
"And the other part?" I asked, as we took our seats.
"Lots of the great myths, the classics that carry on, they have this element of ambiguity, where who is in the right and who is in the wrong isn't clear, and various storytellers tilt it one way or the other. If Medea had stopped with his new wife and father-in-law, her revenge would be completely justified. But she doesn't - she also kills his children, just to spite him. It gives it a lasting appeal, I think. It would be a good enough revenge story if it stopped at his new family, but it doesn't, it goes a step further, so it becomes ambiguous, something that you can think about and dissect on a level beyond 'well, good for her.' Does that make sense?"
"I follow you. A big believer in vengeance, then?" I asked.
"Retribution for wrong-doings is the foundation of just laws," she replied evenly. "Criminal law, at least. Vengeance is just how retribution is meted out when the law can't or won't do so. For example, when the evil-doers are a king, his daughter, and his son-in-law."
"I suppose there's not much point saying that kind of mindset leads to vigilanteism?" She snorted loudly at that. "I imagined as much."
The play soon began. The broad arc is most likely familiar to you - Medea is abandoned by her husband, and takes her revenge on him by killing his new family, and his children with her. It closes out with him demanding to see his children's bodies, and her refusing to give them to him, and pointing out that he didn't want to see hide or hair of them before that point. He calls for the gods to witness what she's done, and the play ends.
There was an ovation for the various actors, and people started to filter out, Elizabeth and I walking hand in hand. "That's my first time seeing the play. How was it? I assume you've seen it elsewhere."
"It was good," Elizabeth said. "The actress playing Medea did an excellent job. Jason's actor..." she wavered a bit. "Not terrible, but by no means the best. He sounded a bit too much like he knew he was the villain - or at least, a villain - of the story for my taste. I prefer it more when he's willfully oblivious to what he's done. Now," she said, turning to me as we exited the building, "you did mention dinner."
"That I did. Heard of Javert's Deli?"
"Oh, yeah, I've heard good things about that place," she said, pulling out her phone and presumably getting directions to it. "See you there?"
"See you there," I responded, as we broke off for the moment.
"Oh, you know," Elizabeth said, as we settled in to our table, "you never did say what you thought of Medea. The play, the character."
"I'm not as familiar with the surrounding myths," I admitted, "so I'm missing some context, I think. But, I don't know. I thought she definitely went too far with killing her own children. I didn't get that feeling of ambiguity you were talking about."
She nodded, expression pensive as she glanced over the menu. "It's certainly not something everyone will feel. I think part if it is the fact that not everybody does. You can't make something ambiguous without some people feeling it's clear cut, you know? Or at least, not in a satisfying way."
I nodded. "That makes sense." I paused, taking a deep breath, and turned my eyes up to Elizabeth, who soon met them. "I can't help but notice certain similarities between what happened yesterday, and what happens in the play with Medea, Jason and Glauce..."
She gave a small laugh. "Just don't divorce me and abandon our children to marry Jeanne and you'll be fine."
"Are you sure you don't feel jealous when I fuck other women?"
"Maybe a little bit," she admitted, "but I asked for it, remember? I can't exactly blame you." She licked her lips. "To be honest?" She bit her lower lip, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I played with myself thinking about it earlier today." She laughed, leaning back up. "Maybe being with you is like a sexual awakening?"
"How do you mean?"
"You know. The voyeurism, the housewife thing, it wasn't something I had ever been interested in before you. It's odd." She paused. "Not to imply anything bad, of course. It's nice. I think when you, you know, in that bathroom? The most I'd ever come in my life up until that point." She offered a small smile, her cheeks glowing a bit.
"I make you feel like a whole new woman?" I asked, smiling myself.
"Maybe a little."
"But there's nothing..." I trailed off. "How do you feel about what happened with Jeanne?" It was simultaneously a natural segue, and something worth checking to ensure that progress was going well.
"It was nice. Very nice. She enjoyed it too. I think she wants to do it again, but doesn't want to come off as too needy, gauging by some chatting we did earlier today. Just texting about day-to-day stuff," she noted.
The waiter arrived, we ordered our sandwiches and drank what we'd been served, engaging in pleasant conversation over the course of the meal, discussing this and that.
"You know, there is one thing I noticed... or a bit of perspective that changed, I suppose, regarding Medea," she mentioned, as the dinner drew to a close.
"Oh?"
"Yes. It's not really covered in the play itself, of course, but Medea was a good wife. She was loyal, she helped her husband, she never betrayed him and his until after he had betrayed her and cast her aside. People only really know the ending to that story, but it starts with a woman who is endlessly loyal to her husband. She was a good wife. A model woman."
"Besides all the murder?"
Elizabeth laughed. "Besides all the murder. Even then, what she did, eh... generally they'd kind of earned it, or it was coming around anyway. Other than her children, obviously."
"Obviously," I agreed, in good cheer.
"It's the sort of play that comes off as women's lib-y, but really, when you cut down to it, is there anything particularly modern about vengeance on an unfaithful man? Adultery used to be illegal in this country, if anything, we've gotten less vengeful about it."
"True enough. This isn't how you used to think of the play?"
She waggled her fingers. "The idea of Medea as a model wife wasn't one I'd considered. Maybe it's just because I'm thinking about..." she trailed off, then gave me a smile. "Well, yes, I'm thinking about marriage at least a little when I'm roleplaying a housewife. I hope you're not scared off?"
"Not at all. To be honest?" She nodded, gesturing for me to go on. "I've been thinking of marriage since before even our first date."
She blushed at that, smiling. "Same here, actually," she said, with a sweet little smile.
I gestured for the check. "Care to come over to my place, enjoy the evening? We could watch a little something on the television, cuddle on the couch..." I trailed off.
She smiled and laughed. "That sounds like a lovely time," she said. Then her expression shifted. "Oh, shoot, there's something I meant to give you," she said. She reached for her purse, fumbling for a second, then pulled out a small, simple white box, lightly wrapped with a single red ribbon. "Here," she said, handing it over.
I pushed aside what remained of my food, opened it, and... found an absolutely lovely digital watch, with a sleek red and silver design. I removed it, feeling it in my hand, while Elizabeth simply stared with some anxiety, a small smile on her features. "An Elizabeth Ross original, I presume?"
She nodded. "I hope you like it."
"It's lovely," I said, as I slipped it on my wrist. "Though not as lovely as the woman who made it." The waiter came by with the check then, and I quickly signed and paid. "Thank you very much, Elizabeth. I'm sure everyone at the firm will be asking where I bought it and how much it was soon enough." (Indeed, it did get quite a few compliments.) "Oh, and I promise not to regift it," I added.
She blushed and gave a little laugh. "I'm sure you wouldn't."
We sat on the couch, the television playing some lazy soap opera, and I genly ran my fingers through Elizabeth's hair. She snuggled up next to me a bit, and I slowly directed her down towards my lap, letting her rest her head there, lying on her side on the couch in the process. She had to hike up her dress a bit to manage it, with how long it was, but it gave me both a lovely view of her profile, and the pleasant feeling of her cheek pressed against my crotch.
I let her lay there for a while longer before my fingers slid down to grope and cup her ass, earning a cute little confident smile, a glance out of the corner of her eye as she wiggled her butt in my grasp. Then my fingers continued their journey down her body, slowly pulling her dress ever further up, until it was wrapped around her waist, letting my fingers slip inside her panties. Even as I started to gently tease her sex and clit, I continued to stroke her hair and pet her with my other hand.
With my earlier command to ensure she'd come often with me, it didn't take long before her eyes were squeezed shut, her cheeks a rosy red, her toes curled up as she panted in pleasure while I frigged her. I gently tilted her head towards my groin, so her lips brushed against my pants, but she was so close she didn't really react, just sputtering and jerking in pleasure before finally orgasming with a moan. Her mouth pressed against my groin as she twitched and ground her pelvis against my hands, and I slowed the work of my fingers in her groin, staring down at her suggestively.
She panted as she recovered, then twisted her head to look up at me before realizing what I obviously wanted. "Y-yeah," she breathed out, eyes a little unfocused. "Okay." She twisted until she was on her knees at my side, my hand having to briefly leave her panties before gliding back under them. As her fingers twitchily undid my belt, she spoke. "H-ha, fuck, that's, damn." She swallowed, overcome by the feelings in her cunt, before finally pulling my cock free.
"I, I'll do my best, on the, you know," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear before she slid her mouth around my erect and exposed cock, her lips wrapped along the ridge of my manhood, my fingers still in her groin. She jerked occasionally in pleasure, little hot breaths and moans escaping her mouth as her tongue did its best to lap at the tip of my manhood.
Her blowjob began tentative almost to the point of tedium. Only an inch or two in her mouth at any one time, lazy little licks at the thing. The only thing that really made it even worth my time was that she'd occasionally jerk or moan in pleasure, and it would do interesting things to my cock, to have it in her mouth as she vibrated that way. "You're going to have to pay attention to more than the tip," I growled out.
That made her pop off my cock. "Sorry," she said. "I don't, um." Her cheeks were red, both from arousal and from embarrassment. "I don't do this a lot."
"Run your tongue along the whole length," I ordered, my fingers still running in and out of her sex. She nodded, staring up at me, her tongue sliding along my length, running from bottom up to top as she stared my way. She sputtered a bit as I teased her clit, a splash of drool falling down onto my thighs, as her tongue ran in slow, careful movements up and down. "Better. Vary the way you move your head and tongue, though." She nodded, her tongue starting to do little back-and-forth movements, or circular ones. Her tongue slid around my manhood, coating every inch of it in saliva, her eyes staring up at me nervously as she licked and lapped.
My fingers kept up their work inside her, and I enjoyed the exquisite feeling of a young woman licking my cock for quite some time. She orgasmed twice like that, moaning and even drooling a bit as she came, her cheeks scarlet as she worked to pleasure me, some feelings of inadequacy clearly coming into her mind as it was obvious I wasn't exactly on the verge of coming myself.
She popped off, breathing heavily. "I, can I," she paused, hesitant. "Is there anything I can do to make it better?" She wore this sweet, sincere, worried look on her face, like she was a bit afraid that I was going to be cross with her over this.
"Can you deepthroat?"
She blushed and bit her lip, but shook her head. "Like I said, I don't do this a lot." Something to correct.
"Get off the couch and get on your knees. You'll have a better angle," I explained, and she nodded. I popped my fingers out of her panties, finding them slick, as she got on her knees before me, still in that sexy red dress, her cleavage on full display through the transparent red fabric of her top. Before she leaned forward to lick my cock, I placed my wet fingers in front of her mouth, and she blushed but obediently licked them, even sucking them past those pretty lips, a cute little act of foreplay as she cleaned her own juices off them. Her eyes stared up at me, those lines of anxiety still in them, and it made the entire thing a little more erotic, reinforced the feeling of power and control.
Once she was done, I took my hand and wiped it off, reaching with the other hand to draw her hair into a ponytail. I pulled her along my cock like that, using the grip to direct her this way and that, and she took it unhesitantingly. Her tongue slithered up and down my length. Her lips wrapped around my balls, suckling on them as she stared up at my eyes, her expression constantly looking for any sign of displeasure.
While physically the blowjob was nothing to write home about, there was an incredibly sexually intense feeling of domination that rushed through my body, at having this beautiful, rich, independent heroine on her knees, sucking my cock like she was a schoolgirl with a crush. I dragged her mouth up to my cockhead, and she gave it a kiss before I pushed it past her lips, slowly fucking in and out of her mouth, enjoying as her tongue did its level best to pleasure me. I couldn't get far - on the one occasion where I hit her throat, she gagged noisily and almost pulled off before I stopped her - but it was still plenty enough, with how worked up I had gotten.
"Play with yourself," I ordered, and her fingers were soon in her panties, visibly frigging herself. She squirmed and squeaked on my cock as she realized just how good she was feeling now, like this, even though it was her hands and not mine down there, and her bobbing got a bit more intense and involved on her part. She'd occasionally accidentally gag herself, the tip of my cockhead sometimes entering her throat, whereupon it got an exquisite massage before she pulled off and coughed and sputtered around it.
When she came for the first time like that, her low moan vibrating my dick as I fucked her pretty lips, I finally let go with a groan, ejaculating inside her mouth. She was so lost in pleasure she didn't offer any complaint as my cum splashed all over her tongue, and when I was completely spent, I pulled her off, tilting her head back using my grip on her ponytail. "Swallow," I commanded, and she did so, her breathing still heavy as she rested on her knees before me.
I just soothingly ran my fingers through her hair, smiling down at her. "You're a natural," I informed her, which was mostly a lie. "Not a lot of girls can come that hard and fast just from sucking dick and playing with themselves."
She blushed at that, her breathing still heavy. "Y-yeah. Fuck." She swallowed. "Didn't expect to feel so good. Guess I really do like you," she added, with a shy smile.
"I guess you do," I responded, continuing to pet her.
Soon enough, she got herself cleaned up and headed back home, rather than staying the night. She'd come over to my house, sucked me off, and hadn't even thought to complain that all I'd given her was a fingering in return, which suggested she was shaping up quite nicely.
I awoke in the middle of the night that Tuesday to the sound of somebody fumbling in the garage.
My immediate thought was to what Elizabeth had said on Friday about some criminal she'd met claiming he knew who she was. I don't sleep near a phone, so I instead slid under my bed, toying with the watch she had given me. There was presumably something about it to make it send her an alert signal?
A beeping noise came from the garage, and I continued to desperately fumble with the watch, considering if perhaps I should have risked going to another room to grab a phone. When footsteps left the garage, headed my way - soft, like the person was barefoot or else hiding their steps - I decided I probably had made the right choice and stayed perfectly still and silent.
The footsteps, much to my increasing fear, stepped over to the bed, pausing momentarily as if considering the scene. Then the person peeled up the overhang that was hiding my position, and my heart almost stopped until I saw Elizabeth's face. She was wearing her hero costume, a bright red skintight thing, and seemingly nothing else. Her hair was done back in a tight bun, and she winced as she saw me there. "Hey, come on out, Franklin," she said, soothingly.
I did so, my heart still pounding even if my actual fears were quickly abating. I gave her a look, and she winced a little harder.
"Sorry," she said, with a horrible wince. "I was in the neighborhood... well, nearby enough. My jetpack got damaged, couldn't risk going for my car because some goons were in that parking garage, and you're pretty close, so I came this way." I just kept looking at her. "I checked your position on the watch, saw you were in bed... I just needed to fix some things up and I could go, didn't want to wake you." She looked really apologetic. "I'm incredibly sorry for scaring you."
"I accept your apology," I said, giving her a gentle smile. "Please knock or call in the future, though. I'm fine with waking up at two AM if it's for you, but I'd rather not be worried about somebody breaking into my home."
"Right. Sorry," she said, with a little wince.
"Well. You woke me the hell up. I don't think I'm going back to sleep any time soon. Mind if I watch you work on your equipment?"
"No, that's fine. I won't be able to really talk you through it though, if that's what you're hoping for."
I shook my head. "I'd just like to see you work."
She'd laid out a couple towels, on which was perched her jetpack. It had a polished mirror sheen, and the central part had been cracked open, obviously having been torn apart. A pair of what I guessed were batteries were sitting on the towel as well, and she hummed softly as she considered the sight again. Her helmet - a simple, almost astronaut-esque thing, with a mirrored surface - sat off to one side. My tools (unused in years) lay on the ground, as she worked.
She paused, reaching back for the top of the zipper where it was located on her backside, peeling it down to around her shoulder blades with one hand before swapping over to the other and pulling it the rest of the way, peeling the suit off her upper body, leaving her wearing just her sports bra, the suit still firmly wrapped around here upper body - her skin lightly glistened with sweat. Her hands worked, she inspected, paused, pursed her lips. She almost seemed in a fugue at times, hands moving while she looked elsewhere or at nothing, a blank or bored or thoughtful expression on her face as she absently tightened this screw or popped open that latch.
She took some piece and cracked it open, then groaned as she saw its innards - I couldn't tell what left her displeased. "You have any cables you're not using?" She asked, turning my way.
"Cables?"
"Power cables or extension cords, anything that plugs into the wall."
"Oh. Uh, I think I have an old laptop cable, the end that went into the computer broke though."
"That's fine, I don't need that bit. Could I have it?"
"Sure," I said, departing, returning back with it soon, handing it over.
She took a knife and started cutting away at the outermost layer, peeling it back, then measuring out a length of cable and cutting that out, working with the materials she had before her once more. She didn't speak again until she was done, the jetpack pieced back together. She clicked a button experimentally, and there was a dull thrum; another, and it jerked forward an inch or so on the ground, dragging the towel with it. "There we go," she said, with a sigh, rubbing her eyes. "I can get out of your hair now," she said, standing up.
"I like you in my hair," I said, with a smile. "Come on. Hang out a little. I can drive you to that parking garage come morning."
She hesitated only very briefly before smiling. "Sure."
"Want to make a little midnight snack for the two of us?" I suggested, absently.
"Oh, sure," she said, with a nod. "I'm getting pretty good at cooking, I think. Well. Basic stuff, anyway. Pancakes?" She asked.
"Pancakes sound wonderful."
"Let me just get changed," she said, stepping into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door open. She peeled her suit the rest of the way off, sighing a bit as flesh was exposed to air once more. She turned it inside out, hanging it on a hook, laying out some paper towels beneath it as drips of sweat slowly spattered down. She was wearing a sports bra and a chaste pair of panties, and she soon acquired an apron and set to work, looking to all the world like a diligent housewife rather than a superheroine just back from "work."
"God, you look so beautiful like that," I told her, with a smile, and she blushed, glancing my way briefly. "I'm surprised you didn't like the little housewife roleplay too much, to be honest. You seem like the very diligent kind of woman."
"I am," she agreed, her gaze on the pancake in front of her, "but there's a difference in how it feels. It's like a grind."
"Maybe if you had a different perspective, you would enjoy even the tedious parts of being a housewife?"
She glanced my way, quirking an eyebrow. "What kind of different perspective?"
"Mm. That it's an accomplishment? It's a task without end, sure, but so is superheroics," I pointed out.
"I guess that's true," she said, in an absently disbelieving tone of voice. "I don't think that will really help, though."
"Ah, well," I said. I stepped up to her, kissing her neck and wrapping my hands around her waist as I watched her cook. She hummed softly and appreciatively at the feel of my skin against hers. "You looked really sexy in that outfit," I whispered in her ear.
She blushed. "It's skintight for flexibility," she said. "Not for sex appeal."
"Still. Gorgeous." My fingers reached up for her breasts, giving them a quick squeeze under the apron but above her bra as she worked.
She squeaked. "Come on," she said, her voice half-pleading, half-joking. "I'm trying to cook, Franklin."
I pulled my hands away. "Sorry. I'll wait until you're done."
"Thank you," she said. I gave her a kiss on the base of her neck from behind, making her smile softly, and headed back to the table to take my seat.
When she arrived with the freshly made pancakes, she was still wearing that apron and almost nothing underneath, which made me start to absently fantasize about just taking her and fucking her brains out. "What happened, out of curiosity?"
"Hm?" She seemed momentarily confused.
"To break your jetpack. Or, what were you doing, when it broke?"
"Oh, right." She paused for a moment to consider the question. "Damn it, let me go get drinks, I keep forgetting," she said, standing up, heading back into the kitchen. She called back to me in the dining room. "Drug deal, the Russians and the Mexicans exchanging cash for coke. If you can hit a big one of those, you can do a lot of financial damage, destabilize the network as a whole. Swooped in, hit them with a pain grenade," she paused, "it... it uses an electromagnetic pulse to cause pain. Disabling weapon, pretty much entirely non-lethal."
She came back to the table with a couple tall glasses of water, taking her seat. "Anyway, they were down, I get in, burn the cash and the drugs with a quick incendiary and go. One of them took a couple shots at me. I'll probably have a bruise on my back tomorrow," she added, reaching behind her and wincing a little. "Something hit the jetpack, though, and I would up having to go to ground. They spread out, wind up searching the parking garage my car's in by accident, and, well, that brings us around to here."
"You just burned the money?"
"What am I going to do with it? I'm rich already. Better to hit them in their pocketbook."
"Why not tell the police about it?"
"Tried that once before, the deal didn't happen. I figure somebody's on the take." She sipped her drink before taking another bite of her pancake. "Harder to keep people on the take when somebody burns a ton of cash though," she said, with a smirk.
"These kinds of organizations have a lot of money to burn through," I pointed out.
"Sure, but are they going to burn through it here? It's a business. Income column smaller than loss column, you leave."
"Or you ramp things up in response," I pointed out.
She shrugged. "I can handle them." She said it with the casual confidence of a teenager who think she's invincible. "I took out a dozen of their guys and a million bucks worth of product in under a minute."
"That is quite impressive," I admitted, letting that topic lapse for the moment. "I have to admit, it is incredibly attractive to know that you're capable of that kind of thing." And that you're slowly winding your way to being completely submissive to me.
"Really? I figured you'd be more intimidated."
I shrugged. "I, hm." I paused. "There is a certain advantage to a woman who is... in need of protection. An important part of a long term relationship is that you provide something regularly to your partner. If there's something feeble about them, something that demands protection or compensation for - especially for a female partner - it's much easier to manage."
"Especially for a female partner?" She quirked an eyebrow.
"Men are more likely to get offended by that kind of thing."
She snorted. "Fair enough." She popped the last of her pancake into her mouth, chewing it quietly as she eyed me with a small degree of lust.
"Speaking of how incredibly beautiful and sexy you are," I started, as she drank down some of her water, "would you mind wearing your costume in the bedroom?"
She gave a choked little laugh, coughing as water went down the wrong hole. She patted her chest just above the collarbone. "Ah, damn," she breathed out. "Really?" She asked.
"Come on now. I've indulged you quite a bit, with the having sex with your friend, the housewife roleplay..."
"You liked those. Don't act like it was some imposition."
"And I bet you'll come buckets," I countered.
She laughed at that. "Mm, true enough." She paused, flicking her eyes about as she thought. "Sure, I've got the time."
"The time?" I asked.
"The innermost layer of the suit can get eaten away by sweat. Around ten hours of wearing it, on average? Six is the point where I try not to wear it anymore. If it gets eaten through I basically have to start from scratch because..." she trailed off, realizing she was about to go into engineering specifics of something I knew nothing about. "Anyway, I only wore it for like three hours, so it'll be fine." She stood up, then paused, smirking. "With the apron?" She asked.
"Let's keep it a little more vanilla for the first time. No need to insert your fetish into everything," I teased, as I stood up as well.
She blushed, removing the apron, and headed to the bathroom where it was hung up. She glanced down at the paper towels she'd set beneath it, as if looking for something, even going so far as to sniff them, then nodded to herself and pulled the suit off its hook, switching it back to right side in, slowly getting re-dressed. I watched as her body perfectly filled the suit out - it was obviously sculpted to exactly her measurements, by the way it hugged her body. "How are you going to fuck me while I'm wearing this?" She asked, glancing my way with a faint flush to her cheeks.
"I have some ideas. Come on," I said, reaching out for her hand, taking her towards the bedroom.
Once we were there, I directed her to get on her hands and knees on the bed and got up behind her, undoing my pants. At first, I simply rubbed my cock against the fabric of the suit, slapping her butt cheeks, pressing it between her thighs. It got a bit of an embarrassed giggle from her, her eyes flicking back my way as if to ask if all I wanted was to dry hump her? It had a nice, soft feel, like a blanket or something, not like latex or laminate.
Then I reached up for her zipper, slowly peeling it down. It stopped at around her hips, so I had to peel it down by hand, leaving it bunched up around her thighs, her back entirely exposed, the upper part partly caught on her upper arms, leaving just the hint of cleavage.
"You look incredibly sexy like this." I practically exhaled the words as I took her panties and sliding them to one side, finding her quite wet. I slid into her, exhilaration rushing through me as I fucked a superheroine in her costume, her on her hands and knees, pliantly accepting my cock (and soon to start coming over and over again like that). My hands ran along her stomach up to her tits, slipping under her suit and groping them through her sports bra, making her squirm a bit.
She fidgeted, grinding back against me after a moment, panting herself. I could feel her sex squeeze my cock as I started to fuck her, enjoying her enthusiastic response, playing with her tits. "You, ah," she panted, "like that, huh? You like, fucking, the Ruby Shield?"
"I do," I practically growled, enjoying the feeling of domination, as well as the way her hips pushed back into me. "I love it, in fact," I said, leaning over her, nibbling on her neck as I fucked her.
"I'll bet," she breathed out, before orgasming beneath me, her sex convulsing on my cock, her whole body jerking sporadically as she moaned in pleasure, her cheeks flush. I could feel her erect nipples through her sports bra as I kept toying with her nice big tits, and I growled possessively from my position on her neck.
I pulled my lips away from her neck, admiring her profile for a moment, her hair still in a bun. "I've got you. I've got a hot, sexy, powerful superheroine on her hands and knees, happily coming on my cock while I play with her tits," I said, my voice raspy with need and an exhilarating feeling of domination.
She sputtered to speak as she came down from her orgasm. "Yeah, damn right, you do," she managed to get out. "Got the Ruby Shield on your dick, must feel pretty good."
"Not as good as you feel, I bet," I teased, giving her tits a rough squeeze, and she orgasmed at that moment, a splash of drool raining down onto the bed as she twitched in ecstasy. "That's it," I said, "you're mine, now. My woman. My girlfriend. My personal superheroine." She moaned a little on my dick at those words. "And," I said, my breath in her ear as my voice turned to a whisper, "my future wife."
She came again at those words, her arms failing her, collapsing onto her shoulders. Her fingers dug frantically at the blankets and sheets of the bed, her tits plentiful in my hands as I pounded her senseless. It felt intense, the power most of all, but certainly also her muscles working to massage my cock, her thighs clenching and unclenching as she came and drooled. Her hips shook and pushed back against me. But what made it special was the knowledge I had and she didn't, that I could do whatever I liked to her, that this was just the beginning, that I could twist her mind around until she thanked me for doing whatever I pleased.
"Thank me for fucking you," I grunted, as I continued to pound her, leaning down further to kiss at her backside.
She didn't even think of arguing. "Thank you," she breathed out, before coming again.
I basked in it, as I fucked her. My hands left her tits to grope the rest of her body, to feel the muscles beneath the surface of her skin, to play with her firm ass, to finger her mouth or her clit, or both with either hand. I made her thank me again and again, louder each time. "Thank you." "Thank you!" "Thank you for fucking me!" "I'm your personal superheroine and I love it when you fuck me! Thank you so much for making me quiver on your cock!"
Simultaneously, my own words softened, my growls become gentle and patronizing, my groping and biting becoming soft exploration and sweet kisses. "That's a good girl," I whispered in her ear. "You're so beautiful. I love you like this. I hope you're enjoying yourself." She came over and over as I used her body and played the romantic boyfriend to her mind, her eyes rolling up in raw ecstasy.
I could feel myself draw closer to the edge. I needed release. Thoughts bubbled through my mind as to how I could or should achieve that release. Come inside her? Splash all over her back, or make her take it on her face? So many options, each exquisite in its own way.
Ultimately I decided on the method that involved coating her with my seed with least repositioning, pulling out after her twenty or thirtieth orgasm and quickly jerking off. A thick spurt of cum splashed along her backside, beautifully staining her pale skin, some even sticking to her panties or sports bra as I came, groaning in pleasure as I marked her as mine.
When I was completely finished with her, I laid down besides her and dragged her into me, so her head rested on my chest, her neck captured in the crook of my arm. She just breathed, drooling a little on my shirt as she recovered from her own ecstasy, her back still stained with my juices.
Rather than getting up, we wound up falling asleep together like that, my cum still staining her back.
She woke up before me - an hour or two later - peeling herself off me hurriedly, jostling me awake. Once she was free, she set to removing her suit, hurriedly carrying it with her into the adjoining bathroom, repeating the process of turning it inside out and putting it above paper towels. "Shit, come on, don't be blue," she muttered to herself, staring at it.
I got up out of bed, smiling as I saw my cum still staining her backside, apparently forgotten in her concern for her suit's integrity. "Is that your only one?" I asked.
"No, I've got a backup, but they're a pain to make. They have to be exactly the right size." She shook her head. "How long were we asleep?"
I glanced at my watch. "You woke me up at around two, it's five now."
She nodded to herself. "Probably okay, then," she said, with a sigh. She rubbed her eye. "You should meet my parents again. As my boyfriend, I mean. We've been going out for long enough, you've met my friends."
"You don't have to convince me," I told her. "A dinner at your place?" I asked.
"Yeah. Wear something nice, be classy, you know. My dad will probably be pissed I'm dating a guy twice my age, even if you are great." She glanced down at the paper towels. "Doesn't look like it's running blue," she said, with a sigh of relief. "Can't say for sure just yet, though, really. I'll... I probably shouldn't wear it again until I've gotten the chance to treat it. Do you have some clothes I can borrow? Just so I'm not wearing this when I go back to my car."
"Sure," I replied. "But you need to spend a little time waiting on this, right?"
"Yeah," she agreed. "Why?" She wore a smile suggesting she knew at least part of why.
(The part she didn't know was that her little nap should have had her last command inserted, so I could use the chance to give her a new one before our visit with her parents.)
"I'll be right back," I told her, kissing her neck. She gave me a quirked eyebrow, and I headed to my study to collect a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold before coming back.
She gave a little laugh when she saw them. "I see how it is. Ramping things up?"
"Only a little. Too much for you?"
She tilted her head. "It's funny. I used to have a little bit of a phobia about it - maybe that's not the right word. The idea of being bound, blindfolded, sincerely rendered at another's mercy, it bothered me. Bothers me. But with you? I feel like I'm safe." She smiled, offering her hands up to the cuffs.
"Come on, over to the bed," I told her, halfway dragging her to it, lying her out before cuffing her to the headboard, the cuffs looped around part of it. She looked up at me expectantly, curious where I was taking this.
I reached down for her plain, sporty panties and peeled them promptly off, leaving her naked from the waist down. He eyes looked up at me, curious when I was going to get to finally fucking her, and I got annoyed enough to give her ass a little swat, making her squeak in surprise. "Don't give me that look," I told her. "If you want something, use that beautiful mouth of yours and ask."
She licked her lip experimentally, as if considering whether to obey, and I gave her another spanking. "Ah, darling, please fuck me," she decided on, giving me these gorgeous (albeit exaggerated) puppy dog eyes, parting her legs as wide as she could to invite me in.
"Since you asked so nicely," I teased, removing my pants and pressing my cockhead against her entrance. Her nostrils flared, and I took hold of her hips before simply thrusting inside her. Her head jerked, her tits bounced, and a sharp breath escaped her lips. "That's a good girl," I grunted, as I enjoyed fucking her. I didn't waste time ramping up, I just went at it, making her whole body push back and forth across the bed from the force of it. Soon enough she came for the first time. I smiled down at her, drinking in the way her whole body twisted in pleasure, taking the blindfold and simply slipping it on her.
She practically shivered in delight as my hands proceeded to grope her gorgeous tits through her bra, squeezing and playing with them. "A~ah," she breathed out, trying to make her pleasure known, "f, fuck me," she whined as her legs wrapped around my waist.
"That's exactly what I'm doing," I said, practically sneering down at her, groping the plump flesh of her tits, watching her body twitch and writhe beneath me. Her head craned back and she came again, blind to the world, cuffed, utterly at my mercy. I could do anything I want to her, I thought, as my fingers absently ran along her stomach, as her legs squeezed at my hips and held me in place. I always could, of course, but now she had absolutely no ability to resist, having willingly given that up. It was both erotic and enticing.
I leaned down to meet her lips, mine pressing against hers, tongue slithering into her mouth. She whimpered into mine, her tongue lapping at mine weakly, then starting to push up into my mouth, trying to tease my tongue. I gave her a sharp pump, making her squeak and bounce, my hand absently reaching down to tease her clit, making her quickly orgasm. Her body shook, and her tongue fell lax inside her mouth as I continued to explore it with my tongue, to steal her breath away with my long kiss. When I finally pulled back, she took in great, heaving, panting breaths, trying to recover from the long period of the kiss, and I admit I had to catch my breath as well.
I let my hands wander her body, groping her supple ass, playing with her tits or her clit, admiring her body. She took in sharp breaths at my unexpected touches, her cheeks flush with a mix of arousal and (increasingly) embarrassment.
Sometimes I kept her balanced on the edge of coming for long minutes, enjoying the way she wriggled, panted, and even begged. "Please let me come, Franklin," she'd breathe out. "Let me come, darling. Let me come. I need to come. Please," she'd moan before I finally let her achieve climax, enjoying as the pleasure rushed through her, her whole body jerking, her cunt convulsing around my cock, giving it a thorough massage.
Other times, I'd silence her with my thrusts, stopping her from speaking as I simply used her body like a sex toy. Her legs remained wrapped around my hips as I interrupted every thought she tried to form with those gorgeous lips of hers. "M-" A sharp pump, a twist of a nipple through the fabric of the bra, and a quiet, stuttered little cough of pleasure. Keeping her from talking, making her passive and silent, a recipient of my cock with no ability to resist or argue.
At still other times, I'd kiss her thoroughly once more and just fuck her silly, enjoying as her squeaks and moans rolled into my mouth, as her twitching, jerking, convulsing body helped to pleasure my own. She was beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, and she was mine, at my mercy, and that was the sexiest thing of all.
Eventually even the stamina of a sexually experienced man who's already come once in the last hour or so was put past its limits, and I pulled out, grasping her hips and using her legs to give myself a thighjob. She whimpered for a moment, as she realized what I was doing, before speaking. "Come, darling. Go ahead and come on me." Her voice was an awkward, breathless thing, and I simply released, staining her lovely pale stomach with my juices, marking her as mine, a few drips mixing in with the red hair of her bush.
I admired her like that for much longer than was necessary, absently considering photographing her while she was unaware, but decided against it. As she started to squirm, her lips frowning slightly, I finally removed her blindfold. "I appreciate the trust you've shown me," I told her. "I want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me all your secrets."
She gave a little laugh. "If you're lucky," she said. "Going to let me out?"
I pretended to consider it carefully, but finally did remove her cuffs after a long moment. She took a brisk shower, got dressed in one of my shirts and a pair of pants, and we went to the parking garage she had left her car. The entire process took just about long enough for my power to fully take hold again.