A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate you all so very much. We have some answers in this instalment.
To answer ZIAM's question, these are the only fics I can think of where Rick is a sub and Michonne is Dom:
I know you – Kinky Richonne Fic by IsisNicole
Douleur ou Plaisir by Carlyshae
Definitely check them out.
It is in the morning, just after breakfast and Rick and Maggie are practising at the training grounds with the other fighters. The young woman is improving with every day that passes. The two trade blows with the wooden swords, and Rick is certain she will be able to carry herself well in the newly fortified Arena.
It has been a week since Rick has been with Lady Michonne in her playroom, or anywhere, for that matter. He has not even seen her in passing, and all of his trips to the water tank have proven to be fruitless. His Lady has not been seen. There is a craving and longing deep inside of him that has persisted ever since she tied him to that cross and let him taste her. He has spent his time training, working, and thinking of the Lady of the Citadel. He thinks back to what he learned from Morgan: Lord John, it seems, does not like sharing her. He hopes the Usurper has not stopped her from enjoying her dalliances with her Tribute.
Distracted by thoughts of Lady Michonne, Rick drops his guard a moment and Maggie's wooden weapon strikes and lands at the side of his face. The blow causes him to stumble slightly.
"Oh my god, Rick!" says Maggie, rushing to check on him. "I'm so sorry."
Rick places a hand to his jaw and clenches his eyes shut. She steps closer and says, "Let me see."
"It's okay," he finally replies while rubbing it. "I should've been payin' better attention."
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," he says. "I'll be fine. You're pretty handy with that sword, Maggie. You're gonna do well in the Arena."
She offers him a smile and says, "You think so?"
"I know so," says Rick with a grin, as he places a hand to her shoulder. "You're gonna make your father proud."
Suddenly, there is a sharp whistle and Morgan calls out, "The Lord and Lady of the Citadel are present!"
Rick, Maggie, and the others swiftly turn to face their betters, hold their swords across their chests, and take a knee. Rick's eyes meet Lady Michonne's briefly, before he averts his gaze. She stands back as Lord John steps forward. He is stern looking, and says nothing for a beat, before he addresses his Trainer.
"How are they shaping up, Morgan?"
"Well, Lord John," he replies. "You've got some fine fighters here."
His Lordship ambles over to them, weaving around the kneeling Tributes. He takes them in, noting that they are already sweating under the morning sun. He looks pleased. When he reaches Rick and Maggie, he stands behind them and then speaks to Morgan once more.
"The girl," he starts. "Is she keeping up with the others?"
"Yes, Sir," says Morgan. "She's a hard worker. Strong. A good fighter."
"Excellent," Lord John replies. "And the injured commoner? How is he faring?"
"He's faring well," says Morgan. "He's strong, too."
Lord John glances to his wife, who is now looking at Rick. He clenches his jaw, and then steps in front of his kneeling fighters.
"Commoner, get to your feet," he commands, and Rick does so; His Lordship towers over his subject. "My Love, would you like to see an exhibition?"
He keeps his gaze on Rick while he waits for Lady Michonne to answer.
"Yes, My Lord," she replies as she watches her husband and her Tribute.
"Great," says John, as he steps back from Rick and then speaks to Morgan.
"Hand the commoner your sword," he says, and Morgan looks slightly confused, but does as he is told.
He unsheathes his weapon and approaches Rick. He hands him the sword, takes the wooden one from him, and then returns to his spot. The heavy weight of the steel feels different to Rick after training with only the wooden sword for some time now. How easy, he muses, it would be to lunge forward and slash the sleek blade across the Usurper's throat. His fingers twitch and he supresses a wry smile. Instead of completing his mission right then and there, Rick holds the sword at his side and waits for Lord John to give his next instruction.
"Clear the training ground," says John and the fighters do as they are told, leaving Rick standing there.
John unsheathes his own weapon, and then turns his head to his wife, before saying, "Would you like to test him, My Love?"
He holds the handle out to Lady Michonne. She glances at Rick and then takes the blade from her husband. Slowly, she saunters over to her opponent and then takes up a ready stance by grasping the weapon with both hands and raising it to her right. Rick lifts his and holds it out front but crossing his body. Without warning, Michonne swings her blade. The clanging of the metal rings out loud as the swords clash. Rick parries her strikes as they begin a dangerous dance.
Lady Michonne uses backhand strikes, overhead swings, and then twirls like a ballerina as she lands her blows. Rick's moves are all defensive. Not once does he strike at his Lady. She is fast and agile, and if not for the week of intensive training, Rick is not sure he would be able to keep up with her assaults. He is able to parry each hit, but Michonne has gotten the better of him. Their blades clash again, and she keeps hers pressed against his. Her strength is phenomenal, and she uses it to inch Rick's blade closer and closer to his face. Struggling, he pushes hers back, causing her to stumble a little. She is not impressed, and swings her weapon with fervor, putting him back on the defensive once more.
Their swords lock together for a second time, and before Rick can push her from him again, she raises her foot and kicks him in the stomach. He is winded from the blow, and falls to the ground, landing on his back; the weapon drops from his grasp. Quickly, Michonne stands over him, a boot at each side of his waist, and then points the tip of the sword just under his chin. She holds his gaze and sees fire and craving in his eyes. She feels a throbbing set in between her legs. She wants nothing more than to lower herself to his swollen pink lips so that he might relieve the pulsing of her pussy with his slick tongue. They remain that way, him lying at her feet, and her pressing the sharp blade to his flesh, for a moment too long.
"Enough!" says Lord John, irritated by the heat that seems to be radiating from his wife and his subject. Annoyed by the fact that everyone on the training ground sees it, too.
Lady Michonne offers Rick a devilish smile, and then steps away from him. She walks back over to her husband and hands him his weapon. He sheathes it, and then places a possessive arm around her waist.
"How was he?" asks John as he glares at Rick, who has now clambered to his feet.
"He was fine," she replies. "I'm pleased with his performance."
"He didn't look very pleasing," John snorts.
"I have to disagree, My Lord," says Michonne. "I quite like him on his back."
…..
The afternoon sun is warm on Lady Michonne's glistening skin. She paces around the private training grounds and watches her young students finish the day with a match. A young girl, Amelia is doing battle with a boy of the same age, Roger. Michonne watches them with pride as they go through the moves that she has taught them. After a moment of equal attacking and parrying, their Mistress claps her hands and brings the bout to an end.
"Nicely, done," she praises. "You're getting better each and every day. I'm very proud of you both. I am proud of you all."
"Thank, you, Lady Michonne," the students say in unison.
"Okay," she says, clasping her hands together. "Let's get everything packed away."
"My Lady," says Roger. "Is it true you bested one of the fighters today?"
Michonne raises an eyebrow in the boy's direction.
"Where did you hear that?" she asks.
"Everyone is talking about it, My Lady," the child answers.
"It was merely an exhibition," she says. "He was probably taking it easy on me; holding back. Something none of you should ever do."
"Doubtful," says Patrick. "You're the best warrior here, My Lady."
"I know," Michonne replies with a smile. "But remember what I said: Don't hold back. No matter what your station in life is; no matter who your opponent is. When you step out to do battle, give it your all. Okay?"
"Okay," a few of the youngsters reply, while others nod their heads.
"All right," says Michonne, redirecting their attention. "Let's finish up now. Missy, a word, please."
The teen approaches the Lady of the Citadel and waits expectantly.
"Did you tell the others about me beating the Tribute this morning?" asks Michonne in hushed tones.
"Why would you think it was me, My Lady?" she asks.
"Missy," she says, while raising her eyebrow.
"Fine, it was me," says the youngster, throwing up her hands.
"Your father wouldn't like it," says Michonne. "He wouldn't like you talking to the other children about things he's mentioned to you in private. He would consider it gossip, and you know he doesn't like gossip."
"It wasn't about him, though," she replies. "It was about you."
"That's true, but it's good practice for you to know your place," says Michonne. "One day you will be Lady of the Citadel. Idle chit chat is unbecoming; your father would disapprove."
"They're my friends," says the teen. "Why can't we talk about you kicking some Tribute's ass?"
"Language."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," she replies. "My father's rules are silly."
Michonne sighs. The child is stubborn, and questions Lord John's authority. He already limits their time together, if he thought she shared any of her mother's rebelliousness, he would keep them apart forever.
"His rules are the law, My Love," says Michonne, as she smooths Missy's hair down. "And you have to be a good girl, or he won't let me see you as much. So, please; no more gossip, okay?"
The girl shrugs her shoulders, tired of the barriers the Lord of the Citadel has placed between them. But she knows that Michonne is right. The have to abide by his rules, at least for the time being. Missy offers a small smile and then says, "Okay, Mommy."
…..
"Your chainmail is filthy," says Michonne, as she examines the garment hanging on the wall of Lord John's chambers. "Where are your Attendants?"
"I gave the boy Glenn the night off," he replies, while pulling a dark red tunic over his battle-scarred form. "I have a late council meeting to attend, it could take some time."
She ambles over to the small table in the corner of his room, and pours herself some wine. She sips from the glass. Lord John watches her. He makes his way over to his wife, and takes the glass from her hands and drinks from it himself.
"I wish I didn't have to go to the meeting," he whispers. "I'd much rather stay here with you."
She takes the cup back from him and finishes the contents, before saying, "Duty before pleasure."
"Yes," he replies. "But your duty is to please me."
Michonne gives a slight nod of her head, and decides to change the subject of their conversation.
"Today was a good day," she offers. "Thank you for letting Missy come to lunch with us."
Lady Michonne reaches out a hand and places it to his forearm. He covers her hand with his.
"It was a real treat to see her twice in one day," she adds. "We haven't had that extra time in so long."
"I thought having more time with our daughter would help you to feel better after being ill this past week, My Love," he offers. She wonders why his eyes only ever appear cold, even when he speaks of love and family.
"It did," she says. "She always makes me so happy."
"And you make me happy," he says, stroking the side of her face. There's no warmth to his eyes, and even now, after all of these years, it sends a chill up her spine. "But I am late for the meeting. Will you return to my chambers later?"
"No, My Lord," she offers. "I thought I might retire early tonight. I'm feeling better, but shouldn't overdo it too much."
"Of course," he says, looking disappointed, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and walking her to the door.
…..
Michonne sits on her bed with one leg crossed over the other. The sheer black negligée she is wearing does little to stave off the uncommon chill of the night air. Her drapes are open, and she can see into her sitting room. There comes a rapping at her door. She stands, and calls out, "Enter."
The door swings open, and the Tribute, Rick, steps inside. He says nothing as he takes a knee in front of her. She is pleased with his obedience. She walks around him, and then locks them both inside of the room. She brushes her fingers over his curls as she passes by, and sits on her throne.
"Take your clothes off," she commands. Rick does as he is told. He strips down, and folds his discarded items neatly, placing them to the floor. Michonne is ever impressed by him. From his obedience to his physical appearance. He ignites this flame inside of her; she cannot explain it. She is drawn to him.
"Go to the bed and lie on your back," she instructs, and he does so immediately.
His manhood twitches from anticipation; he can feel himself growing hard. She follows him. Her eyes roam over his naked form, resting on his cock. She smiles and licks her lip, before retrieving something from the table next to her bed: It is a long strip of leather. She wraps it around her hand before smiling down at Rick once more.
"I missed you this week," she says, while trailing her fingers over his chest. "Did you miss me?"
"Yes, My Lady."
She loops the strip of leather through his cuffs, then threads it through the fixtures attached to her bed posts.
"How badly?" she asks, while pulling the leather tightly, effectively tethering him to the bed.
"I thought I might die because I missed you so much, Mistress," he offers dramatically, but sincerely. It has been torture to be without her touch and her taste.
She straddles his lap and looks down at him, while running her soft palms over the rise of his chest. She can feel his dick growing stiffer against her ass. She rolls her hips against him, and he lets out a moan. She is already wet; her panties are already drenched, so she slides them to the side before shifting so that his erection is now resting against her inner thigh.
"What did you miss the most?" she teases, before placing her dripping slit to his shaft and rubbing it against his entire length. She rolls her hips and slides her sopping pussy back and forth against his shaft. Her juices coat his thick cock and she has not even let him enter her yet.
"Hmmm, everything, My Lady," he breathes; he is losing his mind.
Her swollen lips feel amazing. The perfect juxtaposition. She is warm and soft and wet; her pinkness framed prettily by her dark, smooth skin. She is in charge. He is at her mercy; rock hard and throbbing. The purple-blue veins protruding from his big red cock. Precum drizzles from his tip and drips on his stomach, mingling with her arousal. He cannot touch her, for his hands are bound; all he can do is feel her as she slides her glorious sex against his.
She digs her nails into his flesh as she moves faster. She stares into his eyes as she pleasures herself against his straining prick. She rubs her clit up over the head of his manhood and then slides back down. His cock wants to stand up defiantly, but she continues grinding against it, trapping it between her pussy and his abdomen.
"Hmmmm," she moans as she rolls her hips faster.
"Please," Rick begs.
"Shhh," she replies, placing her hand over his mouth and grinding harder. Her pussy drenches his aching cock when she finally comes all over him. She rides out her orgasm by keeping his length locked between her pulsing, engorged lips as she fights to catch her breath. Her hands slide from his mouth to his throat as she slides against him again.
"Come for me," she says as she tightens her grip on his throat and rubs her soaking, sated womanhood against him. She chases her second climax of the evening, and wants to bring the Tribute to his first.
Rick's eyes close as he is brought nearer to finding his release. He has held on for long enough, wanting to extend their time together; wanting to last for her. And he has done well to, right up until the Lady of the Citadel leans down and presses her lips to his. Right then, he loses all composure and comes; his quivering dick shoots a steady stream of his hot, white seed over his stomach and up to his chest. Lady Michonne lets go of his neck and watches as he comes all over himself. His cock twitches under her weight as she comes a second time.
They are both covered in sweat and panting heavily. Lady Michonne looks down at a red-faced Rick and uses her finger to wipe some of his semen from his skin.
"We've made quite a mess," she says, before placing the finger into his mouth. He sucks and licks it clean. She withdraws it and brings it to her own lips, moaning as she does.
"Please, My Lady," he begs. "Let me taste you, again."
A pleased smile plays on her features as raises herself from off of her Tribute, and then sits on his come-stained chest. She parts her sticky thighs and spreads her pussy lips near his mouth. Rick begins to salivate as he is met with the scent of her arousal.
"Go ahead," she says. "You've earned another taste."
…..
Michonne steps out of the bathtub and Rick wraps her in a towel. He lets his fingers linger on her smooth skin a moment too long. She does not chastise him for it, instead, she regards him. He is as handsome as she recalls in her youth. Though his hair is longer, and peppered with greys, and his features are more mature, he is still good looking. He steps back and waits for her next instruction. His body, still warm from their tryst earlier in the evening.
"Today, during our swordplay," she starts. "You were holding back, were you not?"
He thinks of lying to her, but the poise of her gaze bores into his soul and coaxes the truth from him.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Why?"
"I didn't mean to cause offense, My Lady."
"I'm not offended," she replies. "I want to know why."
He sighs, but continues.
"I didn't want to harm you accidentally," rick admits.
"I can defend myself," she offers. "I don't need anyone doing me any favors. Do you understand?"
"I understand, My Lady."
"Whatever it is, whether we're engaging in swordplay," she says. "Or if we're playing in other ways, I don't want you to hold back. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Ma'am," says Rick, as he chances a look at her. "I'm sorry. May I speak freely a moment?"
She stares at him, and then allows his request.
"Go ahead."
"How did Your Ladyship know I was holding back?" he asks.
She considers what her answer would mean. She wonders if she can trust him; she has trusted him with her carnal needs so far, she muses, maybe she can trust him with more. She has faith in her instincts, and they are telling her that she can.
"I've seen you fight before, when you were in service of my father," she admits, and his eyes grow wide.
This is his moment to get her to open up to him. He considers his response. He has wasted a week. He needs to move his mission forward. This is how he can do it; it has to be. He raises his eyes to meet hers, the powerful beautiful woman before him. The woman whom he is there to get answers from. The woman he was sent for. She holds his gaze, and he knows that he can no longer deny her answers. He takes a deep breath, and then speaks.
"Your father is a good man, My Lady," Rick replies. She feels relief wash over her.
"So, you do remember?"
"I do," says Rick. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away."
"Why are you here?" she asks.
"For you, My Lady," he explains. "Your father sent me to find you; to bring you home."