Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.
Author's Notes:
BUCKLE UP FOLKS!.
If you would like to know who to thank for this upping of my smut game, you can thank the Anti who left me a hate comment on my last story telling me that I was going to hell and that I needed to "atone for my sins" for "hating woman". To this Anti: If you thought I had "out-grossed" Fifty Shades of Gray before…you ain't seen nothing yet. Just so you know…"This was all for you, Damien. All for you!" Enjoy. And know that there's so much more where this came from. I take your hate as encouragement.
Dedicated to my fam member mon-kai-el and the dirty bitches squad (aka The Dark Side) whose dirty talk showed me that I could take the kid-gloves off. Stay thirsty, my friend.
If you're not into this, skip towards the end and pick up after the sex.
· PSA: If there are any Babysubs out there who read this and think, 'this is me' and you don't know what to do. It's important that you know this: THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU! Not a damn thing, and don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Especially the faux-feminist posers who don't have a clue what feminism is all about, or what owning your power really means.
You are not the single type
So baby, this the perfect time
I'm just trying to get you high
And faded off this touch
You don't need a lonely night
So baby, I can make it right
You just got to let me try
To give you what you want
-The Weeknd – "I Feel it Coming"
Chapter 4/8
Kara laughs as he crosses the room with one hand on her thigh, the other wrapped tightly around her body, her legs locked around his waist. Both of their bodies are slick with water. "We should dry off first," she comments, a hint of protest in her voice. Craning her neck to glance at the bed behind her, her lips form into a pout, "We'll get the sheets wet."
"Don't care," Mon-El replies, as he tosses her on the bed. Leaning over, he shakes his head like a wet dog, sending water droplets spinning in all directions, many of them landing squarely on Kara. She holds up her hands to ward off the spray, but laughs maniacally, belying her flimsy attempt at lodging a complaint. "Too late to worry about it now," he grins, his smile a hybrid of incredulous happiness and evil glee. Surreptitiously, while she wipes at the droplet of water on her face, he withdraws a condom from the bedside table and tosses it on the bed within easy reach.
Her laughter, and the abandon with which she wields it, entrances him. Only an hour ago his entire world was falling apart, and now he can feel her laughter, her beauty, and her openness knitting it back together, like sutures applied to an open wound. As her laughter begins to fade, Mon-El feel its deficit like a gaping hole opening up inside of him. Unwilling to play party to her laughter's demise, he does the only thing he can think of on such short notice. So, despite the rather urgent state of his arousal, Mon-El curls his fingers slightly and goes on the attack.
His fingers digging relentlessly into her ribs, have the astonishing effect not unlike that of detonating a bomb – with a devastating yield of shrieking giggles. A large portion of her brain shuts off instantly, becoming a slave to instinct only, while the tiniest sliver of it, the part no longer in control, speaks of logic and caution – its pleas largely unheeded. Her back bows against the bed, logic and caution wondering why she's laughing, but instinct scrambling to get away from the assault and find a way to gain the upper hand.
Her legs kick out, instinct seeking connection, while logic and caution prays she finds none. Despite her vigorous laughter, it's inexplicably unpleasant, this feeling of being tickled; his fingers finding the most sensitive parts of her dermis and exploiting them ruthlessly, and yet uncontrollable laughter is its outcome. Reason cannot reconcile it.
Truthfully, Mon-El didn't expect her reaction to be quite so bombastic, but it made sense in a way. She's been so responsive to his touch in every other way they've experimented, why not this one? His laughter joins hers as he relishes the sound of it, the ultimately fruitless attempts she makes to escape, her gasps for air between peals of giggles, and the way her body contorts beneath the relatively innocuous pressure of his fingers. She no longer controls her body, any more than when she's in the throes of an orgasm.
He wants to taste her while her laughter rings in the air. One hand continues tickling her while the other travels downward, fingers toying with her navel before gliding down to the nest of silken hair between her legs. Dipping into the seam there, he finds her already wet, a smile of undeniable satisfaction spreading across his face. Mon-El adds a second fingertip to the first, widening them to spread her open before him.
It's too much to withstand, the tickling (though lessened now) and then his fingers stoking an even more primitive blaze within her. It's as if he's crossed all the wires in her brain; reason no longer computes and now instinct feels like higher thought. "Oh!" she cries, but it's not a word with any real meaning, just a syllable, a sound expressed only out of necessity. A sound riding a burst of air right out of her lungs, like it was the last bus out of town.
Suddenly it stops, the sensory overload, and there's no time for her to catch her breath before his mouth is on her, the tip of his tongue dipping into her warm honey, overwhelming her with new sensations. Mon-El places his palms on her inner thighs, stroking her gently, seductively with his thumbs before spreading her further apart. When his mouth finds her clit, alternately sucking and licking at, electricity shoots through her, causing her temperature to rise, her nipples to tighten painfully and her clutch to beg for the solid heaven of his thick cock.
Her tongue snakes out to wet her dry lips, before they press tightly together, the edges around them turning white. "Mmmmm," she moans when his lips begin suckling her swollen bundle of nerve endings, building her need to a frenzy with each seductive draw. Kara sits up, struggling to her elbows, watching his head move between her thighs. Sensing her observance, Mon-El opens his eyes and tilts them up to meet her rapt gaze. He has her in his thrall (or maybe it's the other way around), so he doubles down on his efforts.
The power of the sensations streaking through her body, lighting her skin on fire, turning her nerve endings into stinging nettles and melting her insides to lava, has her losing control over the muscles that hold her head aloft. Her neck succumbs and her head falls back, leaving her staring at the ceiling through a half-lidded slit of vision. "Mon-El," she moans, sighs. She isn't sure how it sounds or even how it is intended, only that she wants more and hopes he understands.
With one last draw, Mon-El withdraws his mouth, causing Kara to lodge a non-verbal protest in the form of an entitled huff of frustration. He chuckles, a little too self-satisfied for her liking, but transfers his mouth to the satiny sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He kisses the skin there like it is the answer to his prayers, moving all around, from one side to the other, from near the juncture of her knee all the way down to the musculature that strings her thigh to her pelvis. Cruelly, he studiously avoids returning to her weeping, begging core.
Kara spears a hand through his hair, hoping to subtly steer him to her center-most point. He tosses her a steely glance, well aware of what she's doing, and she reconsiders her tactic. Carding her fingers through his hair, she strokes him, massaging his scalp but not directing him. Only rewarding him for the care he shows her by returning it in the only way she is currently capable.
But she's so needy—in need—for him, her desire pulled taut like a bowstring preparing to let loose an arrow, that despite her best efforts she can't stop herself from begging. "Please," she whimpers.
Lifting his mouth completely from her (not even remotely her aim), a slow, drowsy grin crosses his face, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. "I love it when you make that sound," he slurs, as though drunk on her plea, and her taste. Perhaps to prove it, or perhaps to reward her, he puts his mouth on her as last, fully committing to providing her pleasure. His lips mesh with hers, his tongue slipping into her soaking slit determined to discover and conquer every vulnerable nerve ending. He uses every available means to tease and cajole sighs of pleasure from her; his lips and his tongue, even angling down to tease her with the tip of his nose.
"Ahhh," she pants, unable to contain the tension that steadily builds within her. "Mmmmm." Her breasts are heavy, aching for his touch, but since his hands are otherwise occupied at the moment, she offers her own instead. In part because the ache is intolerable and requires relief, even if it is less satisfying, and in part because she knows he likes to see her touch herself like this.
She cups her breasts in each hand, squeezing the nipples, already flush with arousal, until the sensations she evokes ride the thin line between pleasure, and the erotic pain she's learning new ways to appreciate. With a mewling cry, Kara surrenders to the overload of stimuli; the clenching, burning need he elicits from between her legs, and the sting of frozen needles her own hands can't seem to alleviate.
She's so wet for him and he wants to make her even wetter. He wants to hear her scream like never before, and fall apart like she can never be put together exactly the same way again. Forgoing the simple orgasm he had planned on driving her towards, Mon-El abandons her clit and looks up. The view from this position is better and more wondrous than hovering over the rainbow lakes of Havania.
Mon-El rests his head on her inner thigh and waits for the abatement of orgasmic tension he worked so hard to build and watching, appreciatively, as she pinches and tugs her nipples to granite peaks. Kara heaves a long sigh as the orgasm she chases slips irretrievably out of reach, and Mon-El knows that she's ready to hear him.
"Trust me?" he asks.
"Mmm-hmmm," she nods, gazing at him beneath heavy lids, entranced by the way her juices on his face catch the light. She's learned in the relatively short time they've been together, that when he withholds from her it's because he wants something more for her—something better. He's never left her unsatisfied, and she suspects by the gleam in his eye he's not about to start now.
Mon-El's lips brush against her labia, kissing them with the same practiced technique he employs on her lips. Vacillating between gentle, frustratingly chaste pecks to calculatedly incendiary kisses, his wet tongue stoking the fire rather than dousing it. Like a finely aged Thoronthian Ambrosia, her flavor is a perfectly balanced mixture of sweet and salty, with the barest hint of the coconut oil she slathers on her skin during her morning ritual. It seems her arms and legs aren't the only places she massages the fragrant and flavorful oil.
"Really trust me," he qualifies, whispering against her inflamed skin. He teases her slit with the tip of one finger, before sliding down to her opening and pressing into her core up to the second knuckle. "It will take more trust than you've bestowed before," Mon-El warns.
"I thought…you said…no games," she gasps at the promising feel of his forefinger sinking into her heat. Her fingers clench at the duvet cover beneath her.
"No games, sunshine," he vows, adding a second finger to the first and testing her tightness by gingerly plunging in and out. She grows wetter around his fingers, her body answering the call for more lubrication while her hips gyrate sensuously in time to his torturous rhythm. "Just pleasure."
"Okay," she nods frantically, ready—willing—for anything he wants to give her. As long as he would just give it to her already. Her body has sprouted a fine, glistening sheen of sweat, dampening her tingling hairline, her chest between her breasts, down to her fluttering belly.
"You might want to grab ahold of something and hang on tight," he suggests, allowing her the choice. He scissors the two fingers inside of her, just to provide a new sensation, as his thumb brushes her clit like an afterthought, with no real intent to explore its possibilities further.
Without taking a moment to wonder why, Kara reaches up, behind her head, to grabs onto the edge of mattress but is unable to find any real purchase. "Grab onto what?" she asks.
"Okay," he answers, placing a last kiss on her folds and withdrawing his fingers. "You're right. Preparation is key." Sitting up on his knees, he backs up until he's standing next to the bed, palming the waiting condom before he begins tearing the comforter from the bed. Forced by his actions to move, Kara scrambles to the head of the bed. When the duvet and the top sheet are on the floor, he grabs the pillows. Mon-El sends them to join the rest of the linens with a flick of his wrists, leaving only the fitted sheet and a square foil packet on the mattress. In responds to the confused expression on Kara's face, he smirks and says, cryptically, "You'll thank me later."
With a slight bow, made all the more ridiculous by the sight of his rather insistently jutting cock, he instructs her to re-assume her previous position. Kara complies, while he does the same, climbing back onto the mattress and positioning himself between her long legs. Barely time to reach up under the solid headboard to grasp its base before he's laying siege to her mound once more, stealing her breath with long, graceful fingers. The base of the headboard, usually hidden by a sea of pillows, is bolted into the bedframe and should, therefore, provide some decent leverage.
Mon-El grins, an interesting thought occurring to him. Something to file away for later. "We should borrow a set of Nth metal shackles and cuffs from the DEO. For later," he qualifies, his eyes gleaming as he imagines a whirlwind of scenarios.
"Mmm-hmmm," she nods, barely hearing a word he says. His fingers move within her greater purpose now, and her hips follow their every move. "What are you…going…to do?" she inquires, biting immediately down on her bottom lip as a streak of electricity sears through her.
"Show you what a supernova feels like," is the only answer he supplies. Questing fingers delve deeper, all the way down to top knuckles as his fingertips search for a rough jewel in the heart of her slick, polished clutch. He watches her face for the change he knows will come when—
"Rao!" she gasps, gulping for air, her hands gripping tightly to the headboard.
There it is. He smiles, practically salivating like a predator facing a succulent meal he knows he will have the distinct gratification of earning. His need to pleasure her consumes him, and he consumes it like nourishment far more self-sustaining than the air he breathes, or the yellow-sun radiation that makes him extraordinary. Mon-El strokes the hidden jewel of her passage with the pads of his fore and second fingers, curling them back towards him a few times, watching as her breathing intensifies.
She feels her clutch grow wetter with each maddening stroke of his fingers, her own pleasure magnifying until it mirrors pain, sending bursts of white hot shudders from her core, first causing her toes to curl. A rush of blood then fills the vessels beneath her areolae, causing the dark pink circles of skin to pucker tightly, profoundly, the tender tissues there becoming further enflamed with unquenchable need. Her fingers clench uncontrollably and the upholstered headboard emits a threatening creak. Kara bites down on her lip, attempting to hold in the riot of sensation he meticulously builds within her, but that doesn't stop the groan that rips through her as she tosses her head from side to side on the mattress.
Pleased to see pleasure overtaking her, coursing through her body like a raging wild fire, Mon-El grins and licks his bottom lip. He's nowhere near done with her yet. Having brought her clutch to the peak of sensitivity, he sets about taking advantage of that, using every method in which he was trained. He had only ever done this twice before, during his training in the pleasure arts, and only with a training artist. He had never attempted this with one of his innumerable partners back then; he had never cared enough to put in the effort, or stall his own pleasure long enough to see it through.
But now he could give a squat about his own pleasure, if it means watching her writhe beneath his touch and listening to her fight the urge to give in to a full throated scream. When he is finished, she will no longer have the self-control to hold back. Rather than instructing her to let loose, Mon-El accepts the challenge of bringing her to the breaking point.
He bears upward onto the hidden gem with greater force, alternating his technique; tapping, pulling, swiping as well as pressing upwards until he can hear her struggle for breath. He retreats and plunges back in repeatedly, increasing the speed until he's hand-fucking her mercilessly, fingertips strumming her as though she is the instrument and he, the master musician. The music she makes, a combination of tenacious groans, pained whimpers, and breathless panting, offers a masterpiece of sensuality and carnal nirvana.
He's driving her toward something new and terrifying and, despite her uncertainty, her hips oblige his efforts by rising to meet his tireless hand. Her stranglehold on control is slipping with each plunge and retreat of his fingers, and Kara feels her internal temperature skyrocket until she's certain that she will combust into open flames at any moment. Kara slams her eyes shut, petrified that her body will use her eyes as a release valve in an attempt to normalize the unprecedented heat and pressure building within her. But despite the attempt to maintain, her control slips another notch.
"I can't," she whimpers, attempting to bring her knees together in a less than full-throated attempt to stop what's happening inside her. But his body is in her way and the best she can do is clasp at his hips. What is he doing to her? Pressure builds to an unparalleled peak, and not just in the usual places.
"You can," he insists. Using his free hand, Mon-El grasps for one knee, holding it down against the mattress, while adjusting his body position to pin her other leg down with his own knee, spreading her wide, his toiling hand not skipping a beat. "You can," he promises. "You just have to let go."
"It's…too much," she sobs, drowning in a room full of air.
"Trust me," he whispers. His hand is covered in her honey, as he relishes the obscenely wet noises her body plays for him as he works her. He can't wait to taste her, to lick his fingers clean like he's just brazenly gorged his way through a Daxamite banquet table.
When it happens, she understands what he meant when he said he was going to show her how a supernova feels. She is the supernova. Everything inside and outside of her contracts and seizes, like freezing a moment in time, before exploding outward. If she didn't know any better she would believe that her skin had flown right off of her body, like a blanket of atomically charged particles.
As her clutch clamps ruthlessly down on him, his hand doesn't stop moving, in fact it speeds up, applying the pressure to her secret jewel even harder than before. "Gods of Val-Or," he groans, overwhelmed by the stunning sight of her flushed skin, and her lithe, perfect body quivering with release. "You are so beautiful. Give me everything you have, my love."
It's too much. Too much to feel all at once. Too much sensation for her mind to process. His relentless siege, too much for her meager fortifications to withstand. There is no air left in her lungs for screaming, and yet her body attempts it anyway. Her neck bows back and her mouth opens, a sound that's both groan and sob issuing forth as her grip on the headboard splits the thing in two pieces and tears it from the frame. Her eyes glow red beneath their closed lids, tendrils of heat spreading outward like tributaries radiating from their source.
Finally, as his hand pistons, Kara's body repays his efforts with interest, a gush of nectar jetting from her, splashing onto his cock and belly. Her clear and odorless ejaculate bathes him like an aspergillum of holy water, and Mon-El feels suddenly as though he's been blessed and cleansed by her, by her God, filling him with a sense of sexual peace he's never before experienced. Withdrawing his hand, he swipes at her clit coaxing another, equally powerful stream from her, soaking him again, as well as the sheet beneath her.
Stars. Into the stars, far beyond the sun and the moon, and rocketing into the deep black void of dark space – that is where Mon-El sends her with his devotions. The release sweeps everything away, short-circuiting her brain until it becomes overloaded with the need to process sensation – complex thought now a long-lost memory too deep within her fried brain to recall. He leaves behind nothing but the minimum of involuntary autonomic responses for her; a heart that still beats (races) and lungs that yet breathe (pant), but little else. Except the pleasure. There's more of that than she ever knew could possibly exist, and Kara floats weightless upon it, with no desire to drift back down to earth.
Watching her insensate body swim in the pleasure of the most staggering orgasm she's ever experienced, Mon-El keeps the promise he made to himself just a few moments earlier. Licking the nectar of his goddess from each finger deliberately and with great relish, he takes a few moments to savor her unique flavor – a flavor perfectly suited to his tastes.
After removing the last of her cream from his hand, Mon-El caresses her body, soothing her tremors to quiet stillness. Bending over her, he takes turns sucking each of her nipples into his mouth, soothing the ache he couldn't before. Switching back and forth he pays them and her beauty reverent homage. Her teeth chatter uncontrollably from her release, puffs of chilled breath hitting the air around her mouth. Following only the demands of her purely carnal state, Kara presses upwards into his mouth as he suckles her breast while using a hand to tug on the nipple of the other.
When it's safe to open her eyes again, and she gains control of her freezing breath, Kara's eyelids lift a fraction. Just enough to see him admiring her, to see his belly and chest and cock, glistening with her release, which he makes no effort to clean. Kara hadn't known her body could do that. In truth, she'd thought female ejaculation was a myth that girls whispered about, but never actually experienced for themselves. But Mon-El knew better.
She feels changed, somehow, and realizes that she always feels that way after being with him. Making love with Mon-El is a transformative experience for her each and every time. "Where…where did you learn…to do that?" she asks, her teeth still clacking periodically together.
Mon-El's brow knits together. He doesn't like to think about that time, or any time before her, really. He doesn't wish to be reminded of his training in the pleasure arts by court instructors. They had been severe and exacting teachers when it came to technique and mechanics, but mentioned nothing of the connection that can happen when the heart joins the game. He hadn't known it then, but his pleasure had been shallow and empty, clinical and repetitious. His life then had been little more than assisted masturbation, especially when compared with the unexpected fulfillment that came when sharing the art with Kara.
"I told you," he replies, stroking the outside of her thigh. "I spent years under the tutelage of royal court instructors of the pleasure arts. For which I will be eternally grateful…if for no other reason than it has given me the means to bring you to such heights. Are you alright?" he asks, his forehead wrinkling with concern.
"Uh-hmmm," she nods, her pink tongue snaking out to moisten her dry lips. "I made a mess of you."
"Do you hear me complaining?" he chuckles. "And I assure you…it won't be the last time you shower me," Mon-El vows, his smile transforming into a delicious leer. Were it not for the remaining rosy tint of her orgasm-flush, Kara's skin would, no doubt, be prettily blushing for him. He loves her sweet blush, since shame is never the cause of it, but rather desire.
"But what about you? You haven't come yet," she points out. "This was supposed to be about you—about what you need, baby," she says, a hint of resigned complaint in her tone. "But all you've done is pleasure me."
"That is what I need," he counters. "That is always what I need. Seeing you fly apart at my touch is all the balm my soul requires."
But still she needs to feel him moving inside of her, to make him a part of her as mates should be. Turning her head, she spies the condom at the edge of the mattress and rescues it before it can fall off the edge, catching it between two fingertips. Before she can hand it to him, Mon-El's hand covers hers and slides the condom from her tenuous grasp. She chews on the fingernail of her forefinger as she watches him tear open the package and slowly roll the condom into place, her entire body vibrating with anticipation.
Holding the base of his cock, he repeatedly slides the shaft up and down over her tender, pink folds causing her to hiss, her clit and labia raw and enflamed. "Does that feel good, sunshine?" he teases. Leaning down he flicks her taut nipple with the tip of his tongue, swirling around and around the dark pink puckered tissue of her areola, before sucking it all into the warm cavern of his mouth.
"Yes," she shrieks, encouraging. "That feels good. It all feels so good."
He tilts his hips against her soft, wet patch just to tweak her a bit, but he manages to tweak himself as well. His cock, throbbing with need and as hard as stone screams to be heard, but Mon-El is not quite ready to oblige. An obscenely wet, but supremely satisfying, popping sound accompanies the act of his mouth uncoupling from her breast. "Do you want me inside you?" he asks.
"Yes," she begs, her hands gripping at the hair on his head, refusing to allow him to move away. "Yes!"
It hits him then, like a meteor slamming into the planet's crust, that this intimacy they share will never be simple. Their attraction—the games they play to dig deeper into each other—will never be…vanilla. So an encounter where their true natures are denied would be entirely hollow, not unlike all his encounters before her. And if there's anything he knows, it's that he doesn't want what he has with Kara to remind him of his past. "Do you need it?" he presses.
Kara nods frantically, loving how he pushes her to participate; how he won't allow her to simply be passive in their lovemaking. "Yes," she nods frantically. "I need it. I need you to stick your cock in me—"
"Daddy," he interrupts, instructing her. It's a risk, he knows; but it's what he wants, and he knows deep down, she wants it too. They had a word for this dynamic on Daxam—Dexaris—and through his cultural research he discovered, to his delight, that it was not uncommon here on Earth. The dynamic itself is already very real between them, it lacks only the correct terminology to make it official.
Her eyes widen with surprise. She was an innocent before he took her virginity, but she wasn't that innocent. Kara always did her research in advance of making big decisions, especially when they might veer in the direction of her heart. Her readings had delved into the some of the tamer underbellies of the BDSM lifestyle, and she can confess she'd felt some intrigue while reading up on leather restraints (too breakable), piercings (impossible), and jewelry chains (drool). She could certainly now see the draw to the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, but she'd be the first to admit that she closed the book when it began educating her about these types of roleplays. She did not want to know that there were people who did…that, and had even tried to scrub the thoughts away with mental bleach. Like videos of kittens on the internet.
But that was then, and this is now. Kara understands now that it's not meant to be some barely veiled allusion to a secret desire to commit incest. It is instead, a metaphor, for sexual caretaking. He's telling her that, by being her 'daddy', he's committed to caring for her in every way possible, no matter her need. And as his 'princess' she will do the same for him when called upon, and she will do so without question.
Kara feels a rush of even more nectar between her legs. It is everything she wants—has wanted—Kara realizes. As if she's been waiting, on the edge of a razor, to make him her daddy since the moment she first felt the hot slide of his skin against hers. It thrills her in places she once would never have dared talk about. She spends every moment of her life, out there, maintaining an ironclad control on her powers and on her choices, but here with him, she can completely let go of all of that. Rao gave her exactly what she needed when he brought Mon-El to her.
"I need you to stick your cock in me, Daddy," she gulps nervously, this time adding the moniker.
His hips compress involuntarily, the very sound of her capitulation, and the subtle, sweet shift in the tone of her voice, sending his cock nearly to the breaking point. "There's my good girl," he groans with approval, sighing with relief. She could have been disgusted by the idea but, once again, she surprises him at every turn, stirring him without end. "Tell me what you want. I want to hear the words, see your pretty pink mouth say them, Princess."
Kara smiles at his term of endearment. "I want you to fuck me until you come, Daddy," she tells him, the word shockingly easy to say, and so…right. "I love it when go all stiff and growl at the end."
"Do you?" he smiles, lining up his cock with her wet and waiting folds, teasing her with just the tip. She'd never mentioned it before, and he loves that she's sharing this special piece of knowledge with him, opening up to him in every way possible without provocation. Intimacy freely given has the sweetest taste of all.
"I love it," she says. "It makes me feel…." Her voice trails off.
"How does it make you feel, Princess?" He presses the just the head of his steel against her clit, circling it around and around. He wants to keep the conversation going just a little while longer and isn't sure he'll be able to while he's fucking her.
Kara's teeth clamp down on her lower lip in response to his torturous teasing of her clit with the head of his penis. Her clutch instinctively cramps as though calling out for its other half, the only thing that can make it whole. "It makes me feel…like…like…unnghh, Daddy please," she fusses beautifully and so much to his liking. She slides her hands further down his body, to his waist, hoping to pull him inside of her. "There's nothing in the whole world…but you and me…when you come." Her hips rise in response to his tease, but he holds back from her.
"Just you and me, Princess? You like it when the world falls away?"
"Uh-huh," she nods.
"Will you have me now?" he inquires, per his usual protocol. Mon-El already knows her answer, has utter faith in the answer, but asks anyway. It's important that in her desire to please him she doesn't lose herself and her own pleasure in the process. He values his goddess not just for the powerful body that submits to his, but for the strong mind that knows her own will. Were her mind weak or easily manipulated, he could not savor her submission with quite the same relish. "Will you take me inside of your hot clutch? Say it for me."
"Yes," she replies. "I'm so lonely without your giant cock inside of me. Push it in deep where I'm aching, Daddy."
"Whatever my princess wants," he rewards her honesty by pushing into her until he bottoms out.
Kara loves the way his eyes drift close and a tranquil peace takes over his face whenever he first enters her, like he's finally been relieved of a chronic and persistent pain. Her fingernails dig into his skin in response to the sudden but very welcome feeling of fullness his cock provides. Unrepentantly, she scores his back with stinging marks that will heal all too soon for his liking.
Mon-El withdraws at once, rocking back into her gently, and then again in an attempt to turn her expression of bliss to one of eager urgency. On reflex, her knees rise to grasp at his powerful flanks as he props himself above her, one hand resting on the bed beside her head, the other holding her hip, tilting it to meet his thrusts.
"Yes!" she whines, but rather than complaint, he hears only exultation. Kara's hands roam freely, caressing his cheeks, his neck and down his chest, until heading back up to settle on his shoulders. Mon-El responds to the primal sound of her urging by answering the call, dragging slowly out of her by half and sliding back in with a sigh and an answering groan of his own. He finds a steady tempo of half-thrusts that meet his needs but promises to extend her pleasure as well.
He fills her so completely that each and every time they come to this place again, she's discovers she's forgotten how good he feels, how perfectly matched their bodies are. Among Kryptonians an ancient tale is told: that eons ago, Rao gathered all of the stardust of the galaxy and created each couple as a single creature. Then, one at a time, He struck them apart and scattered them to the cosmos. As time passed, Rao took pleasure in watching and waiting for the perfect time, at last, to bring the stardust together again.
With everything she has, Kara believes that Rao played an instrumental role in bringing Mon-El to her and she wonders if He's looking down upon them now, well-pleased by his efforts. Her hands slide down Mon-El's chest to his stomach and around his hips until she cups his ass, caressing the hard globes with gentle fingers, as though they could convey the words her mouth seems not quite ready to divulge. "You're my stardust," tumbles uninvited from her mouth in a cracking, panting voice upon another of his thrusts. I love you. You make me whole.
Mon-El smiles, recognizing the reference. On Daxam they were familiar with the Kryptonian fairytale of the matching stardust. At length, they would laugh about it, snickering at the notion that a One True all-powerful God would care enough about such lowly beings as to handcraft a mate for each one of them, like a matched set of silver crowns. Why wait for your silver crown when you could wear any of the jewels of your choosing? That was the Daxam way.
But it didn't seem so funny anymore, the idea of being tied to a person beyond words or even a shared predestination, but down to one's atoms, the nuclei – the peta-quarks of their very existence. Sinking down to his forearms, her whole body cradling his, he takes her mouth with his. She opens for him, taking his tongue into her mouth as she took his cock inside her welcoming heat. The kiss is a leisurely and a thorough display of jubilation, their tongues sliding languorously as though getting to know one another again after a long separation. When he retreats, as always more affected by their kisses than he expects to be, her mouth chases after him. She gasps when Mon-El bites at her lower lip, before sucking it between his lips to sooth its tenderness. Then he groans against her still-questing mouth, the thrust of his hips between her thighs still slow and measured. "Everything feels right when I'm inside of you," he says against her open mouth, before claiming it once more.
He can forget everything when her hot clutch is drawing him inside, demanding, insistent, and undeniable—undefiable—like sunrise or the morning rise of his need for her. He can keep this steady pace indefinitely perhaps, driving her up to edge of fulfillment without ever allowing her to fall. And it feels like bliss, her wet heat clutching at him when he tries to withdraw, like a frantic child gripping the leg of a departing parent.
Mon-El buries his face in her neck, consecrating it with hot open-mouthed kisses, nipping with his teeth before sucking on the tender flesh there until blood rises to just beneath the surface. Kara turns her head to the side to give him better access, opening herself to him as much as possible as he fucks her slowly, sensually. The muscles of his ass seize and release, seize and release over and over, his thrusts bringing her closer and closer to completion. Deliberately. Incrementally.
They dance this dance until their skin grows slick with perspiration, their lubricated bodies sliding easily against one another. With each plunge of his pelvis, his pubic bone bears down on her clit, not enough to drive her over the edge, but enough to have her emitting a high-pitched keen that's music to his ears.
But more than the sweet sounds of her pleasure he wants to hear her voice, loves how raspy it gets when she's nearing her peak. "Is that good, baby?" he asks. "Do you like it when I fuck you like this?"
"Mmmm,…yes, Daddy," she replies, her teeth chattering slightly.
A tension he can no longer place on the back burner sparks in the lower part of his spine, wrapping around to settle in his balls with painful insistence. But he knows that this is where control is paramount, because the longer he denies his climax, the more intense it will be. To Kara's frustrated disappointment, Mon-El slips out of her heat and sits up on his haunches.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, her brow crinkling in confusion. "Are you mad?"
"No, baby. You're much too good to make me mad." Grasping his cock lightly between his fingers, he taps the bulbous head against her swollen clit. Her hips gyrate in response to the continuing stimuli, but still her body cries to have him back inside of her. She will happily go without though, if he has other means in mind to provide her pleasure, especially if it results in his own.
His praise exhilarates her, as does the rapid tattoo of his heavy steel slapping against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds. "Are you going to come in my mouth?" she perks up, her disappointment giving way to hope.
Mon-El considers her suggestion and then shakes his head. "I've already claimed you like that once today." Fondly, he recalls shooting his load on her belly during their illicit—and extremely eye-opening—sexual encounter at her place of employment this afternoon.
"Claim me again, Daddy," she pleads.
"Kara Zor-El," he sighs, his heart breaking with the fullness of it, "there is no act of heroism or selflessness I could have ever committed to be worthy of you. Not in a thousand life times."
For a moment, the game stops, her 'good girl' façade slipping until she's there with him in the bubble of intimacy. "Rao has been very good to both of us," she replies. "I believed I would never have anything like this. I didn't even know what I needed…until you showed me."
"And what is it that you need?"
"Someone I can trust completely with all that I am," she replies. "Even the parts I don't know about yet."
"Trust is only one of the many things that bonds us together," he tells her. He says it like a vow, and she can't help but feel he wants to say more but holds back. Kara's breath catches a little, in a way that has nothing to do with the electrical impulses that are running riot throughout her body, but especially below her belly-button.
This isn't the moment to tell her he loves her, while she's utterly compliant and he's holding his hard cock in his hand. Mon-El can be occasionally obtuse about the protocol involved in how emotions are shared on this planet, but he knows that confessing love for the first time during sex would come off as disingenuous at best, and emotionally manipulative at worst. So for now…trust would have to suffice
Soon though, he would have to work up the courage to bare his soul to her, and pray to Rao and all the gods of Val-Or that she feels the same. Or at least, is willing to allow him to remain her mate. Mon-El takes her hand and kisses her wrist at the pulse-point before making his way down her arm, nipping at the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. "How do you like it best?" he wonders, signaling a return to the game.
"I told you," she answered, gasping at feel of his lips and hot breath on her elbow. Who knew she was so sensitive there? "I love it when you go stiff—"
"No, I mean…how do you like it best?"
"There isn't a way I don't like it. But if I had to choose…I like it when you go deep, so deep it's like you're trying to smash our atoms together. And I like it best when you go hard and fast, harder and faster than any human can go – hard like a battering ram. I like it when you show me I'm yours and make me feel it, Daddy."
Mon-El hooks his elbows under her knees and hoists her legs up until her calves are propped against his shoulders. He leans forward until her ass lifts off the mattress, opening her even further to him. With one hand, his guides his shaft into position and wastes no time ramming into her. Her entire body stiffens in response to his invasion, her hands reaching around her thighs grappling for any part of him she can touch as her hips rise to meet his thrust. "You want it all?" he taunts, withdrawing and waiting at the rim of her entrance with just his tip inside. Her clutch ripples, clasping its muscles around something that's no longer there.
"Uuungghh, yes!" she frets, on the verge of boiling over. "I want it all. Give it to me, please? Pretty please, Daddy?"
"How could I deny such a sweet request?" He capitulates to her wishes slamming home until he feels like he might disappear inside of her. Dragging slowly out of her, her body fighting his retreat with all it has, he pushes back in over and over again, using his own body weight to propel his forward motion. Harder and faster, her voice begs, so he obliges by speeding his thrusts outside the realm of human capabilities. With one hand he reaches for the ruined headboard, hoping to find some leverage.
"Yes!" Kara's cries are like worship, a voice praising his godliness, or at least that's how it makes him feel. "Just like that, Daddy," she whimpers, unable to quite catch her breath. "Fuck me so hard."
He can feel the flutters of her inner walls begin, so he scrambles to alter her position. Sitting up on his knees, Mon-El places his hands on the backs of her thighs he pushes them forward until they're pressed against her breasts. "Hold your legs apart," he demands, never breaking eye contact he uses 'the voice' that makes her impossibly wetter, "and don't let go." Kara complies by slipping her hands into the crooks of her knees to hold her legs. Spreading them wider, she lifts her head to watch his dewy cock disappear inside of her as he returns to pounding her.
Hands now free, he fists one in her hair, roughly drawing her head up so that he can capture her open mouth with his. Their heavy breath mixes as tongues tangle far more lazily than expected given the superhuman pace and power of his thrusts. Gripping her hair to hold her body in place as he fucks her, his other hand reaches for the rickety headboard, using the leverage he gains to adjust his hips to a steeper angle of entry, striking the upper wall of her passage in just the right way.
"Rao!" she sobs, the muscles and tendons of her neck distending from the struggle of racing toward her oncoming climax. She gasps for air as the electric shocks streaking through her give rise to a lump in her throat and sudden onset of inexplicable emotion. Unbidden, tears slide down her temples into her hair. His cock ruthlessly and repeatedly strikes the spot his fingers had earlier primed to such great success.
Her neck arches, the onslaught of sensation in her clutch so acute and so excruciating her body would attempt escape, were it capable of anything more complicated than feeling his rigid length fucking her into the mattress right now. Her nerve endings may be sending mixed signals, but her mouth knows exactly the message to send. "Don't stop," she wails, everything below her belly button priming to explode like a coil wound to the springing point. "It's all tight, Daddy."
At this signal, he pummels harder at her signal, recognizing that she's just a few pumps away from getting him all wet again. "Are you ready?"
"I'm going to come," she gasps out. Her skin is red, a fine sheen of perspiration giving her a glow that reflects the light, her breasts bouncing in time to his tempo. He can see the pulse racing beneath her skin as though it's attempting to beat its way out of her.
Drawn by the visible pulse, Mon-El slides his hand from her hair, past her cheek to her corded neck and settles his hand around it. Her eyes widen slightly and a look passes between them, a non-verbal communication that consists of a plea for trust, answered with a blink of acceptance. Surprising and delighting him once again, Kara's head relaxes back, allowing him his way.
He deliberately places his thumb over the beating carotid artery and slowly adds pressure to his fingers as his thumb bears down. Though her air intake is somewhat restricted, that is not his overall objective by using the choking maneuver. By depressing her artery and temporarily decreasing the flow of blood to her brain, he impels a sense of lightheadedness that will give way to full-blown euphoria if he chokes her long enough. In the hands of a neophyte, the untrained, or the well-meaning but overly enthusiastic, this technique of inciting pleasure can be dangerous, or even fatal. But Mon-El knows exactly where to press and how, and he knows the signs of distress for which to be on the lookout. Not that the life of Supergirl could be in danger from anything he could do to her.
She need only place a hand on his wrist to make it stop. She does not.
It takes only a moment for the world to go white and fuzzy around the edges, bright pinpricks of light floating behind the screen of her sight, her vision turning to something like a movie dream sequence. But she cares for none of it, because all she can process right now is the way her clutch tries to maintain a death grip on his retreating cock. The agonizing tightness in the deepest pit of her lower belly is one permissive word from drinking him in, like her womb is a desert and his seed is the only glass of water for thousands of miles.
"Are you going to make a mess for me again, Princess?" his voice sounds like it's coming through a tunnel. Kara focuses on it, listening for the words her body needs to hear.
Despite his hand pressing on her neck, she croaks, "Yes, Daddy."
"That's what I like to hear," he acknowledges, each word accompanied with a grunt of effort. The room is an erotic symphony of panting breaths, sensual whines, feral grunts, and the bawdy sound of skin slapping relentlessly against skin.
"Please, Daddy?" she begs, sobbing. She's swimming in the tension of pleasure unfulfilled, on the precipice of coming to fruition but for want of his indulgence.
His fingers tighten around her neck, compressing her artery further until her eyes roll back slightly and finally he can release her, in every way. "Give it to me, baby," he demands. "Give me everything you've got."
It's the spark she needs to incite the impending explosion. Not anything like falling over a cliff, instead it's like riding a burning rocket past the stratosphere into an unknown abyss. She goes supernova again, her clutch convulsing uncontrollably as she squirts a gush of fluid that soaks his belly and shaft, as well as the sheet beneath her. For a second, as though the comms to her extremities have shorted out, she loses the full feeling in her legs turning them into a cushion for pins and needles.
Gods, he can't take it! The crush of her heat around his cock, the grasping, clutching paradise of it, is more than he can bear. More than he wants to. The dense and unrelenting pressure amassed in his balls screams for release and Mon-El obliges. He pushes that pressure into her, sharing it with her, joining her in bliss with three short but powerful strokes, each one bringing him another plunge closer to the gods. With each release of his seed, as her muscles ripple around him, he is certain that his own death is just one thrust away. She will drain the life from him and he will have no complaints on the matter. With the last of it, his body goes stiff as a board, while behind closed lids, his sight goes white and gray. He feels the rumble in his chest before he hears it—that sound she waits for—a deep, barbaric growl that falls somewhere between the roar of an un-muffled motorcycle and the sultry purr of a contented tiger.
For him, the climax is over in a matter of seconds and he collapses atop her, forcing her legs to flop uselessly on the bed like a ragdoll's. For Kara, the orgasm continues, her clutch still convulsing and rippling around softening steel, her entire body shuddering as electrical impulses besiege her central nervous system at random intervals, like mini-lightning strikes. As though unaware that he is done, her hips unwittingly continue to cant upward into his, still tamed by a cock that is no longer thrusting.
Kara's hands grapple at the wide expanse of his muscular back which is no longer stiff, but now malleable to her kittenish clasping as her fingertips dig in deep. Mon-El purrs mindlessly at the feel of her fingernails scoring his skin. When she opens her eyes, her vision is fuzzy and golden, and an all over warmth suffuses her entire body. Sensation beyond tingly waves hasn't yet returned to her legs, as though there's a disconnection of some kind at the base of her spine. Yet, she feels like she's caught a glimpse into the core of Rao's Light.
"I think I died," she muses, her voice barely above a whisper. "Am I dead?"
"If you are…then we went together," he answers, his voice like a slow, drunken slur. "If my fate is to spend eternity in your arms, I'll try not to complain…much."
Smirking, Kara summons the strength to pop him on the side of his artistically toned ass. How he can joke while still recovering from a mind-shattering orgasm is something she will never understand. But…somehow…she loves him for it.
"If we were dead, I could stay right here," Mon-El laments, lifting his head from the crook of her neck and sipping at her supple, responsive lips. "Buried inside you…where I belong."
Sensing his withdrawal even before he moves, she pulls a disappointed face and tightens her grip on his waist. "I hate this part," she whines, on the cusp of bursting into tears.
Holding onto the condom, he drags himself away from the warm haven of her, his legs still quivering from his exertion. "I know, sunshine," he says, caressing her naked flank as he slides to the edge of the bed. "I don't like it any more than you do. I would prefer there be nothing between us when we make love."
He disappears into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and returns a few moments later with a warm washcloth and a glass of water. He hands her the water to rehydrate and she sits up just enough to comply as he wipes her down, first the mess he transferred to her belly, and then lower down. Sipping her water, Kara opens her thighs for him again to provide the access he needs to bathe her.
When she hands the glass back to him, he sets it on the bedside table and turns back to her. "The sheets need to be changed," he declares, noting the large wet spot between her thighs. His own body shielded the sheets from much her ejaculate, but she still left a sizable reminder that will make sleeping there uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," she blushes, averting her eyes.
Mon-El grabs her jaw and lifts her face until their eyes meet. "Don't ever be sorry for taking your pleasure, in whatever manner suits you. It is yours and you deserve every bit of it. No shame, remember?"
"No shame," she agrees. Her expression changes in a microsecond from embarrassment to sultry self-satisfaction.
"Good girl," he smiles, rewarding her with a sultry kiss. "Now let's get this sheet off the bed. I don't know about you…but I could use some sleep," he confesses. He's gone without for so long he feels like he could sleep for a week or more.
He tears the wet sheet from the bed, along with the mattress pad and carries them to the washer, while she places the top sheet on the bed along with the comforter. She'll make the bed with a new set of sheets in the morning. For now, this will be enough, especially if he's holding her. "Good thinking…stripping the bed," she says, as she climbs back into the bed.
"Told you you'd thank me," he winks, tossing the pillows on top of the bed. Mon-El climbs in next to her and she rolls right into arms, molding her body against his side like it was always meant to be there. He tugs her even closer and snakes both arms around her, using one to cup the back of her head while the other strokes up and down the hourglass curve from her ribs to her hips.
Snuggling her head into his chest, she wonders, "Do you really think you'll be able to fall asleep?"
"Well…someone wore me out," he shrugs, "so I have every reason to hope."
"I hope so too," she says, her fingers toying with the patch of hair in the center of his chest. Tangling one of her legs with his, she giggles, turning her face into his chest.
"What is it?" he asks, already halfway to laughing simply from the potent contagion of her giggle.
"One of these days we might actually wear pajamas to bed."
"Not too soon, I hope," he replies. "I prefer having you naked and ready for me at any given moment. If I had my way…you wouldn't wear a stitch of clothing while you're in this apartment."
The thought intrigues and excites her, and maybe even arouses her a little. "I'd just be naked…all the time?"
He considers the thought, imagining it in his head as a lazy lopsided smile forms on his lips. "Yeah," he sighs.
"And what would you do if I was…say…writing a story, naked?"
"Well, I might watch," he answers. "Intently."
"Just watch?"
"I supposed there's a chance I might tell you to bend over and put your forehead on the counter."
"Then?"
"By then you'd be ready, because I'd be using the voice that makes you wet."
Kara gasps.
"You thought I didn't know?" he chuckles. "Adorable. Anyway…you'd be ready so I'd take out my cock and—"
"Wait a minute!" she interrupts. "You're not naked too?"
"No! Where's the fun in that?"
Kara scoffs and pouts a little, but she doesn't pull away from him.
"Trust me, baby, you're going to feel so much sexier if I have to take my clothes off to get to you. You want me to have to put in the effort."
Kara considers this notion and is surprised to realize it's a logic she can't refute.
"The power of your body—not your super powers—but your shape, your form, the glow of your skin, your pretty blush, the blue of your eyes—is all the power you need over me," he confesses. "When we're together you can say no—you can always say no—but you don't and that's more intoxicating than the finest Zakarian ale. Ask for the heart that beats in my chest and I will tear it out for you with my bare hands, Kara."
A silence falls over the room and Mon-El knows that in his sex-stoked stupor he's perhaps revealed too much of his heart. Offering to remove is heart at her word? That wasn't at all metaphorically apt, was it? And she just let it hang there unanswered or commented upon. Kara breathes deeply and opens her mouth to speak, while Mon-El holds his breath.
"We're going to need some curtains."
TBC